


A Scandal at Swansdown

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Class Differences, Eventual Smut, F/M, False Identity, Forbidden Love, Reunion Sex, Reunions, Scandal, Secret Relationship, Separations, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Employed by the Jones family to serve as housemaid at their country estate, Swansdown, Emma Nolan-Blanchard has been having an affair with Killian Jones, the future Earl of Hookshire. Emma knew they were being reckless, knew she might already be in trouble, and not just because she had fallen in love with a man she knew she could never truly have. When that trouble is discovered by her lover’s step-mother, Lady Jones, Emma is faced with an impossible choice: leave, without so much as a word to the man she loved, and receive a severance that would allow her to give herself and her child their best chance, or be turned out into the street with nothing, left in ruin. Heartbroken, Emma has no other choice but to accept Lady Jones’ terms. With her mother’s ring, the hush money she received, and a quick lie to mask her true identity, Emma set off, determined to make a new life for herself. A life, with its many twists and turns that would eventually lead her to the precipice of that which she’d always wanted. Could a maid achieve a happy ending with an earl after all?
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 49
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by [this breathtaking and heart-wrenching art and prompt](https://itsfabianadocarmo.tumblr.com/post/641400512494895104/lord-killian-jones-has-been-having-an-affair-with) @itsfabianadocarmo posted last month on Tumblr (link below). Please go flail at her because she is a gift and deserves all the credit for this!
> 
> A few items of note. While Regina does feature in this fic, she is not the Regina the prompt suggests. I have molded her after the canon Regina we see before she is tainted by darkness. Young, idealistic, kind-hearted even. Also, I have set this in a sort of a Regency era realm within the EF, if you will. I didn’t want to use England/London (a place I have little knowledge of in regards of layout or locations), or worry about historical accuracy, so I’m taking liberties by setting it in a totally fictional place and time. 
> 
> This fic will post in three parts over the next three Sundays.
> 
> Finally, much love to my amazing betas and cheerleaders: @kmomof4, @ultraluckycatnd, @veryverynotgoodwrites and @artistic-writer - y’all are the bestest!!

**Part One**

Emma awoke with a jolt. A heavy arm was draped over her side and a solid, hair covered chest was pressed against her back. Panic flooded her system. She’d fallen asleep.

Careful not to disturb her lover, she reached over and grabbed the pocket watch he always kept on his bedside table. A shuddering breath left her lungs in relief that it was not too late for her to venture back to her quarters without risk of being caught.

Replacing his watch, Emma gingerly lifted his arm so she could escape his embrace undetected, but before she could scoot away, his arm tightened around her and she felt his face nuzzle the back of her neck.

“Stay,” he murmured with the rasp of sleep clinging to the word.

“You know I cannot,” she said, turning to face him and brushing the fringe that had fallen across his forehead off his face. “Future earls might have the luxury of staying abed until midmorning, but we servants do not,” she teased. “The scullery maids will be awake soon to light the fires. What do you think they would do if they found me here, naked in your bed?”

She gasped at his swift movement, rolling them so she was caged beneath him as he waggled his brows and saucily suggested, “Perhaps they would join us? If we asked nicely?”

Emma smacked his flank, the crack of her palm against his bare skin breaking the quiet of the room. A growl rumbled in his chest and he retaliated by grabbing her wrists and pinning them over her head, leaving her completely at his mercy as he smiled down at her with a wicked grin.

“You would raise a hand against your future lord?” he questioned, dropping his voice to the deep timbre that never failed to send her heart racing and made her toes curl. “Such an infraction deserves a _rough_ punishment, indeed,” he mused, capturing both her wrists in one large hand so his free one could begin a path of exquisite torment over her body. “Question is… which punishment shall best fit your crime?”

Emma’s back left the plush surface of his mattress when his hand slipped between her legs. Her arched position put her breasts in the perfect place to fall victim to his mouth, his tongue hot and rough against her sensitive nipples, her breasts still tender from his earlier attentions.

Or at least, she hoped that was the cause.

She knew she was being reckless, knew what she shared with her lover could not last, and had already come to suspect she may already be in trouble. And not simply because she had fallen in love with him.

Killian Jones, heir to an earldom that would one day soon pass to him even though he was the second born son of Lord Brennan Jones, his older brother having been lost at sea a number of years ago.

Killian Jones, the man who had intervened when one of his drunken _friends_ had attempted to take liberties with her, a chambermaid newly hired to serve Swansdown, the Jones family’s country estate, and who she found herself falling for day by day until she fell into his bed for the first time six months ago.

Killian Jones, the man currently worshipping her body without penance, making her forget the sin she was committing against her station as he whispered praise into her skin while stoking the fires of forbidden ecstasy between her legs. Though a kind and generous lover, Killian Jones was no saint. His fingers, tongue, and cock could take her to heights of pleasure she never knew existed, which made him an all the more dangerous temptation.

Dangerous, perilous, treading a line of damnation she would never be able to redeem herself from if anyone within the household discovered their dalliances. None of those things were of concern to her at this moment, though. The only pressing matter she was focused on at present was Killian’s thumb against her clit and his gruff command that she come being breathed into her ear.

She was nothing if not a dutiful servant, trained to heed her master’s every wish. Surrendering to the tide of pure bliss washing over her in waves, Emma’s cries were muffled by the hand that had released her wrists while his other continued to coax out every last ounce of pleasure from her. When at last her satisfaction was complete, her eyes fluttered open in time to see him wickedly sucking her essence off his fingers, his brows shamelessly dancing in a rapscallion fashion across his forehead.

“Are you sure I cannot tempt you to stay and return the favor?” he asked before leaning in and capturing her mouth, forcing her to taste herself on his tongue. She wished for nothing more than to be able to do just that. Wished their circumstances were different so she could replace the tang currently flavoring her mouth with the brine of his release as they spent their leisure in his bed without fear of being caught.

“You know I cannot,” she reminded him, pushing against his chest so she could sit up. “I have allowed you to distract me for too long as it is.”

“And is that all I am?” he inquired lightly, placing a kiss at her shoulder before she reached down to snatch her nightgown off the floor. “A distraction?”

Emma stood and slipped the shift over her head, freeing her hair from the collar while looking about for her robe as she quipped, “Seeing as that is all I am to you, would it be fair if you were more than that?”

Killian’s abrupt movement startled her as he left the bed and took her face in his hands. His earnest and slightly wounded expression pinched at his brows and shone from his forget-me-not eyes as he imparted, “You are so much more than a mere distraction, my love. Surely you know that.”

Emma’s breath stuttered and her heart pounded against her ribs. “What are you saying?”

“Emma,” he exhaled. His expression softened, and Emma shook her head against the confession she could see forming on his lips.

“No,” she begged, tears slipping past her lashes though she had tried to contain them by clamping her eyes shut. “Please. Don’t.”

His thumbs brushed away her tears, and her heart broke when the words she had desperately hoped he would never say - even as she had longed to hear them - escaped his lips. “You are not a distraction, Emma. I love you.”

Emma shoved him away and balled her hands at her sides in anguish as much as in anger. “Don’t,” she repeated on a pitiful sob. “Don’t be so cruel.”

“Cruel?” Killian replied, incredulously. “How could my loving you be cruel?”

Emma’s mouth fell open and her brows were drawn together by the confounding words he had just spoken. “How could it not be when there is no hope of a future for us?” she pointedly asked. “Or do you intend to keep me around as your mistress even after you wed someday? Fucking me during those nights you are not actively trying for an heir with your wife?”

Killian’s face hardened. “I will not hear such talk from your lips.”

“Well, you must hear it from someone’s,” she challenged. “Because what you speak of is folly, and we both know it. No amount of love between us will ever change the fact that you are heir to an earldom, while I will never be more than a servant to your class.”

The muscle above his jaw flickered, and Killian dipped his head as his eyes fell shut in defeat. “Aye, love. I know.” Raising his head once more, he looked upon her with despair, and said, “But I cannot deny what I feel, and I would not have you think you were some passing fancy when I know the risk you take each night to come to me. I do not want you to think I take that - _you_ \- for granted.”

Stepping forward, he took her hands into his then brought them up to rest against his chest. “I know what we have cannot last indefinitely, but when the time comes that we must part ways, I do not want to regret even a moment spent with you. Can we… can we not simply enjoy one another during the time we have together? Even if you can not bring yourself to love me because you must safeguard your heart, can you not accept my love whilst I am free to give it?”

A fresh swell of tears stung Emma’s eyes as they flickered back and forth between his. “Do you really think my heart does not already belong to you?” she said. “You have claimed every part of me, Killian. I belong to you in a way you can never belong to me.”

“I _do_ belong to you, love,” he insisted. “We shall always belong to one another.”

“No,” she responded, the word hitching painfully in her throat. “We won’t. But..” She paused and tried to offer him a small smile, even though there was no hope of keeping her sadness from marring it. “We have each other for now, and… I suppose that will have to be enough.”

Matching her melancholy smile, Killian leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers, brushing the tip of her nose with his own before lifting his lips and placing them over the crease of her brow. “Will I see you later?”

“I’m certain you will,” she replied, pulling away and donning her robe as he pulled the sheet from his bed to wrap around his waist so he could check the hallway and ensure no one was lingering about.

Before she could whisk past him, holding onto her emotions by a quickly fraying thread, Killian grasped her by the back of the neck and moulded his mouth to hers, taking one last long drink from her lips.

“I love you,” he whispered in a breath of desperation, and Emma was powerless to resist her reciprocation.

“I love you, too.”

His mouth claimed hers once more, both of them groaning in response to the passion building between them. Her hands sought purchase over his skin, bare and warm and eager under her touch as it rose in ripples beneath her fingertips. His hand tangled in her hair, then kneaded the back of her neck while his other fisted the fabric of her robe. Somewhere in a not so distant corridor, the sound of a door opening broke them apart.

Emma braced her hand against Killian’s chest, his breathing as labored as her own while his heart raced beneath her palm, and insisted once more, “I must go,” before hurrying off towards the servant’s stairs at the far end of the hall. She managed to make it back to her bed with only a few minutes to spare before the housekeeper, Mrs. Lucas, arrived, issuing her and her roommate’s wake-up call.

Ashley, her roommate and fellow chambermaid, told her to make use of the facilities first as she snuggled further into her blankets, never one to rise until absolutely necessary. Emma sat up and suppressed a laugh but when she stood, all mirth left her. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she rushed to the chamber pot in the next room, retching several times before the swell of sickness finally dissipated.

“Emma?” Ashley called out, appearing in the doorway a moment later. “Are you ill? Should I go fetch Mrs. Lucas?”

“No!” Emma exclaimed in a panic while attempting to take steadying breaths. “I mean, no,” she answered in a more controlled tone. “There is no need to trouble Mrs. Lucas. Whatever it was seems to have passed. I’m sure I will be able to see to my duties.”

Ashley nodded, but her face could not conceal her dubious concern. For the rest of the morning, Emma did everything within her power to appear as fit and healthy as usual under the watchful eye of her roommate. The strain of fighting off the unpredictable bouts of nausea, in addition to the oppressive fatigue, had her begging off lunch in favor of a quick lie down. However, such an indulgence was not to be. For one, she had forgotten it was laundry day for the staff’s linens, and found her bed stripped bare when she arrived back at her room. For another, her shoulders had only just slumped in that realization when one of the other maids appeared with a summons.

She was to present herself before Lady Jones at once.

Anxiety churned in her gut alongside the queasiness she had been combating all morning. In the eight months she had worked at Swansdown, she had never had an audience with the lady of the house. In fact, she rarely saw the woman. All Emma really knew of Lady Jones was that she was the earl’s second wife; his first, Killian’s mother, having died from fever when her sons were still quite young. Feeling his boys were in need of a mothering influence, Lord Brennan Jones had married newly widowed Cora Mills, who had a young child of her own, Regina, who was not quite a decade younger than Killian.

Emma jumped when the doors to the sitting room swung open, ushering in Lady Jones’ presence, but she managed to offer her mistress a dutiful courtesy and greeting nonetheless. Before she could return her gaze to the lady of the house, a rumpled up bedsheet was tossed at her feet, and Emma’s heart leapt into her throat before free falling towards her stomach.

“Mrs. Lucas informs me you have not yet bled this month, and that your roommate reported you ill this morning,” the woman stated in a cold and menacingly civil tone. “It has also come to my attention that you have been spending time with my stepson, in his chambers, at all hours of the night. You were even seen leaving his room this very morning.” Icy fingers gripped Emma’s chin and wrenched her head upward. “Look at me when I am speaking to you, girl,” Lady Jones admonished harshly.

Emma swallowed past the lump of dread stuck in her throat and mumbled her apologies.

Stiffening her regal posture further, Lady Jones looked down her nose, which was scrunched in disgust, and stated, “Given this information, I can come to no other conclusion than you are with child. Do you wish to deny it?”

Emma knew she could not. Though she had tried, all of the evidence had presented itself over the past few weeks. The fatigue that plagued her work, the soreness in her breasts whenever Killian kneaded them in his hands, the lateness of her monthly flow, and the sickness she currently felt might overtake her. No. She could not deny it, and her prolonged silence only solidified her guilt to her mistress.

“You foolish, revolting, reckless little slut!” Lady Jones spat. “Have you any idea what you have done? The potential scandal you have caused? I will not see this family fall into ruin because you could not manage the simple task of keeping your legs closed in my stepson’s presence.”

Crescent shaped divots were embedded into her palms as Emma clenched her fists tightly, bearing the brunt of Lady Jones’ tirade with as much poise as she could muster.

“Killian shall be the Earl of Hookshire one day,” Lady Jones reminded her. “He will be expected to take a wife of a suitable station, and with any luck, one that will elevate us all to a new level of status. If not he, then my Regina. Rumors of an illegitimate child, with a maid no less, will sully our good name, bringing shame and notoriety down upon our heads. I will _not_ see their futures tarnished. No one must ever know about that… that _bastard_ you carry, do you understand me?”

Trembling with anger, shame, and despair, Emma nodded. Tears crested and spilled down her cheeks and her sobs could no longer be restrained. The last thing she had ever wanted to do was hurt Killian or his family name.

“Oh, do pull yourself together, girl,” Lady Jones said with a heavy note of disdain. “Tears will do you no good now.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Emma stammered, attempting to regain her composure.

“A bit late for that now as well, don’t you think?”

Again, Emma nodded, wiping away her tears with her sleeve. “What happens now, My Lady?”

Lady Jones gave her one more withering look of disapproval, then made her way to one of the side tables and pulled open the drawer.

“You have a choice to make,” she said, which surprised Emma.

Given the severity of her infraction, Emma did not think she would have any choices whatsoever. She expected to be turned out with nothing more than a red letter forever staining her reputation with no means to care for herself or her child.

Lady Jones stood before her once more with an envelope clutched in her hand. “You can choose to leave quietly, telling no one, and I mean _no one_ ,” she pointedly added, “about your condition, which will earn you a severance and a departure without a single besmirch upon your character uttered from this household, or… you can leave in disgrace, with nothing. Destitute and ruined, condemned to raise your brat in squalor.”

“Killian would never withhold his support--”

“Killian is not yet the head of this family,” she reminded sharply. “He does not oversee the finances, nor does he have the authority to establish any sort of long term support you seem to think you are entitled to. How will you manage until the title passes to him? Do you really think when that time comes he will even bother with you or a child he can never claim? He will have want of a _legitimate_ heir from a _proper_ wife. He will have no need or want of you. I dare say, once you are gone, he will not even miss you as soon as the next harlot takes your place in his bed.”

Emma knew none of that was true. Killian would never abandon her, would never abandon his child. He would find a way to support them both until he inherited his father’s title and all the wealth and privilege that came with it. Emma did not doubt that for a moment.

However, it was not doubt that had her considering Lady Jones’ first offer. It was the certainty Emma knew they could never overcome.

In the afterglow of their lovemaking, she and Killian had spent many hours weaving a fairytale-like ending for themselves they both knew could never be. Perhaps, if his elder brother had not died, leaving Killian to inherit the title once his father passed on, things could have been different. All too soon, however, Killian’s ailing father would succumb to the illness that had plagued him for years, and Killian would have the responsibility of not only the title, but the lands and future wellbeing of his step-mother and sister to consider. Could she really add to those burdens? Burden him further, when being forced apart from one another would be burden enough?

She knew what she and Killian had together could not last, they had both admitted as much to one another that very morning. While it had been only her life she gambled with during the course of their affair, she had determined that being with him was a risk she’d been willing to take. But now… she had her own responsibility to think of. As much as it pained her to leave without any explanation, without any sort of goodbye, or any opportunity to hold the man she loved one last time, Emma knew she had to make the decision that would give her, her child, and her child’s father their best chance.

“I shall gather my things and be ready to depart within the hour. Without word. To anyone.”

A spurious smile strained Lady Jones’ lips as she handed over the envelope containing Emma’s severance. “A wise decision, my girl.”

**~/~**

After handing his stallion off to the groom so he could be tended to, Killian stripped off his riding gloves and tossed them into his hat as he made his way through the front entry of Swansdown. Handing off his riding accessories to the footman station in the foyer, he proceeded up the stairs towards his room, when he was stalled by Granny - at least that was how Killian still referred to their housekeeper, Mrs. Lucas, who had been in the family’s employ since he was a small child.

“I trust you had a pleasant ride, Master Jones” she said by way of greeting.

“Pleasant enough,” he replied. “Was there something you needed, Granny?”

“Yes, I…”

Killian’s brows pinched together and he stepped back down a few treads. He had never seen the typically stalwart and stern woman so visibly troubled.

“Granny?”

Clearing her throat, she schooled her features and straightened her posture, projecting the no nonsense authority he had come to expect from her while operating in her official capacity.

“I regret to inform you, Sir, your room is still being tended to. The house has fallen behind schedule today.”

Killian cocked his head and threw the woman a lop-sided smile. “It is no trouble,” he assured her, stifling the chuckle working its way from his chest at the way such simple things as a delay in schedule could throw the servants into a tizzy. “Rest assured the maids will not be in my way as they finish their task, and I shall refrain from being in theirs.”

Looking as though she might have something further she wished to say, Granny stood at the bottom of the stairs for a beat longer before finally bowing her head in acknowledgement and retreating back towards the kitchens. Shaking his head at the woman’s strange behaviour, Killian turned and took the steps two at a time, his pace hurried by the prospect of catching Emma while she and her partner tidied his room. He knew they would not be able to share more than civil pleasantries with the other maid present, but he did not care. Ever since their confessions that morning, Killian had longed to set eyes upon her again, hoping he might be able to detect the love he’d seen shining in her viridian gaze earlier. Desperate to see his own feelings reflected back at him, illuminated by more than the dying embers of his fire.

Drawing in a deep breath, Killian reined in his enthusiasm and set his features before striding into his bed chamber. Emma’s cleaning partner and roommate - Ashley, he believed her name to be - startled for a moment, then curtsied.

“B-Beggin’ your pardon, Sir,” she stammered. “I’ll only be a moment more.”

“Take your time.” He waved her off, his eyes casting about for his Emma, who, curiously, was nowhere to be found. “Mrs. Lucas informed me things were a bit off schedule today. Is that why you are alone? Are you and your partner dividing and conquering your list of duties this afternoon?”

“No, Sir,” the young maid replied. “My partner, Emma… she is… well, she is gone, Sir.”

“Gone?” he asked, fighting to control the panic rising up within him lest it bleed into his tone or expression. “What do you mean, gone? Where did she go? When will she return?”

“I do not…”

Ashley’s words trailed off as she wrestled with how to respond. Torn between answering direct questions from a member of the family, and knowing it was not her place to provide him with the information he sought.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I should not have… I will leave you to your work.”

Exiting his room, Killian rushed down the back stairs that led to the lower level of the estate; a floor usually reserved for the servants and their tasks. Gasps and frenzied movements erupted around him as he made his way down the long corridor to the Housekeeper’s office.

This must have been what Granny had been reluctant to tell him, Killian realized. Somehow the old girl had come to suspect his relationship with Emma. Had she dismissed her out of hand? Sent her away before the rest of the staff became privy to the gossip? Or worse, his stepmother?

Killian did not give her the courtesy of knocking before he barrelled through her door, slamming it closed behind him.

“This was not my doing,” Granny stated, obviously having expected his visit once he learned Emma was gone. “She left of her own accord.”

“Why?” Killian clipped out angrily, not believing for a moment she would have done such a thing. “What reason did she give?”

“She gave no reason,” Granny told him, her tone even and detached. “Simply turned in her notice, collected her wages, and left.”

“When?” Killian demanded. “How long ago?”

“About an hour.”

Killian did not wait to hear the woman out as she called after him. Sprinting to the stables, Killian ordered that his horse be readied, much to the grooms’ dismay since they had just finished cooling the animal down.

“Perhaps, you would be willing to take one of the carriage horses, Sir?” one of the stable hands offered. Unfortunately, that was not an option, as one of the grooms reported, seeing as the carriage was currently in use.

Killian could only assume his stepmother had gone out, taking the carriage and only other available horses with her, and insisted his horse be saddled, promising to go easy on the poor creature who had already been put through his paces that afternoon. Killian’s hands and jaw clenched with impatience until they finally presented him with his horse. Wasting no time, Killian mounted his trusty Jolly and set off towards the village, certain Emma couldn’t have gotten far and that the staging post in town was her likely destination.

Keeping a weathered eye on the roadside, in case she had stopped to rest along the way, Killian pressed Jolly as hard as he felt reasonable. When they entered the village, Killian questioned whether Granny had been altogether truthful with him. Surely she could not have made it all this way on foot if she had departed when the housekeeper claimed she had.

Arriving at the staging post, Killian dismounted and threw his reins to one of the attendants, muttering he’d be only a moment before searching the crowd of milling people waiting for the next line of public coaches. When he caught a flash of sunshine hair, he pushed his way through the throng, calling out her name.

“Emma! Emma, my love, wait!”

Grasping her by the elbow, he spun her around then immediately released the frightened young woman who was most certainly not his Emma.

“Hey!” a gruff voice growled before a hand roughly shoved him back. “Who do you think you are?”

“My apologies,” Killian panted, winded from his ride and the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “I… I was mistaken,” he explained. “I thought… My sincerest apologies,” he said again, backing away from the murmuring crowd.

Ignoring the sideways glances and scandalized whispers, Killian continued to call out Emma’s name while making his way through the crowd. Growing more desperate by the moment, he failed to notice the tear stained face, silhouetted behind the sheers of a coach making its way past him when he grabbed Jolly’s reins back from the attendant and rode off back towards the estate, convinced he must have missed her in passing.

~/~

Killian sighed and rolled to his other side, punching the pillow that had lost all trace of Emma’s scent since she had last rested her head against it little more than a week ago. Ten days, to be exact. Ten days of questioning, searching, longing for the woman who had vanished without a trace. Ten days spent running down every possible lead, turning over every stone, and clinging to every bit of hope he could muster.

He and Jolly had traversed the road leading from the estate to the village and back again too many times for him to keep count. He had even gone so far as to visit the orphanage Emma had told him she’d grown up in after her parents had died, wondering if she may have gone there to seek counsel from the nuns who had raised her. Unfortunately, according to the sisters, they had not seen nor heard from Emma Nolan-Blanchard in many years, but had promised to notify him should she make contact with them in the future. Killian had done everything he knew to do, and now that there was no further action to be taken, he was left alone with the question he had pushed aside for days.

Why?

Why had she left her post, her livelihood… him?

During the long hours of the night with nothing but strong spirits swirling in his glass to help him combat the even stronger loneliness plaguing his heart, Killian had come up with only one conclusion.

She had left because of what he had confessed to her that final morning they were together.

Despite her reciprocations of the same, Killian had obviously scared her away with his declarations. He had told her he loved her, and it proved to be too much for her. Perhaps she had felt it better to leave now, attempt to mitigate the inevitable heartbreak that was sure to come when duty required he take a wife and produce an heir. He knew there were only two options for them: go their separate ways in misery, or remain together through an arrangement that would keep her close at hand as his mistress, wanting for nothing but forced to share him. Neither of them had ever wanted the latter, so it seemed she had taken matters into her own hands and chose the former on her own terms.

He supposed he should be grateful that she had been the braver of them, knowing he would not be willing to let her go until the last possible moment. Indeed, he was willing to put off marriage indefinitely if it meant having Emma in his life, but one of them had to be practical.

Damn her for being the sensible one.

Damn her for leaving him without so much as a note of explanation. Without giving him a chance to calm her fears and change her mind. Of course, that’s why she had left the way she had. How often had she cursed him for being the persuasive scoundrel he was?

_I prefer dashing rapscallion, darling._

A light, amused huff passed over his lips as recollections and memories flooded his mind. Dalliances in dark corners, stolen kisses beneath the stairs, glances that held promises of later flicked to one another when they crossed paths. Later, here in his bed with Emma splayed over his sheets, back arching off his bed or her body writhing beneath his. A moan caught in the back of his throat, desire and dejection at war with each other as he fought to dispel the images flashing behind his eyelids even as his hand crept down his body.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing and no one ever would be. Yet, night after night, Killian could not stop the torment of recalling the softness of her skin, the scent of her hair, the lusciousness between her thighs, and the way his name sounded on those moans that drove him wild while taking himself in hand. His completion never held any merit of satisfaction, though. For all too soon, those lovely thoughts of her would fade and he would be reminded she was gone.

All he could hope for now was that, in time, thoughts of her would fade altogether.

~/~

A screeching sound like that of a banshee woke Killian, and a light blinded him even though his eyes were still closed.

“Oh, good. You’re up,” his stepmother, Cora, scolded, not even attempting to temper her disapproval.

“Bloody hell, Cora,” Killian groaned. His head was pounding and his mouth felt as though it were full of cotton. Blinking past the excruciating late morning sun streaming in through the windows, he grit his teeth against the scraping noise squealing in his ears as she pulled the final curtain back over the metal rod, flooding his room with unwelcome light. “I told my man not to wake me,” he groused. “I was out late.”

“I know,” she snapped back.

When she wrenched the covers off his bed, he scrambled to keep a corner of them to cover himself. He had been too drunk to bother putting his night clothes on once he had managed to get undressed in the wee hours of the morning. The action only exacerbated his misery, however.

“If you wish to spice things up by entering into a scandal, surely you can come up with something less cliche than attempting to seduce your stepson,” he quipped with a fair amount of sass, not even bothering to hide himself from her indifferent gaze.

“Do not flatter yourself,” Cora sniped back, tossing the robe his valet had laid out the night before at him. “Your pretty face may have women of all ages and stations swooning at your feet, but I have never been swayed by the superficial.”

“Of course not, _Mother_ ,” Killian fired back. “You prefer depth in your men. Especially in regards to their pockets.”

Her features twisted in anger and resentment before she schooled them and carried on with her purpose for intruding on his hangover in the first place.

“This has gone on long enough,” she stated firmly. “The drinking, whoring, and gambling until all hours of the night, coming home drunk and disorderly, sleeping the day away… what sort of example do you think you are setting for your sister? To say nothing of the potential damage your behaviour could cause this family.” Making her way back towards the door, she took her eyes off of him for the first time since she began her dressing down, and said, “I do not know what has caused this appalling change, but it has gone on for weeks now.” Facing him once more, her lips pursed together tightly and her brow lifted as she laid down her ultimatum. “Unless you take strides to regain your senses, or at the very least apply some discretion to your escapades, I will have no choice but to inform your father, and we both know such news would do nothing to ease his current condition.”

Point made, she spun around and slipped out the door, being sure to give it a good tug so it slammed behind her and concussed through Killian’s skull. Falling back onto his mattress, Killian covered his eyes with his forearm and let out a pained groan.

He hated it when his stepmother was right.

For weeks he had tried to banish Emma from his mind by filling his nights with drink and games. Despite Cora’s assumptions, he could not bring himself to even look upon another woman, even though his mates all insisted it was the very thing he needed. None of them knew about Emma specifically, of course, but heartsickness was an illness not easily disguised, and many of his friends had recognized the symptoms immediately. However, none of the other remedies they’d suggested had worked thus far, and it would not do to burden his father while he was suffering from one of his episodes.

Gingerly, Killian sat back up and pulled the cord beside his bed, signalling his need for his valet. Besides taking comfort in another woman’s embrace, which he was not yet prepared to do, there was only one remaining recourse for him should he ever hope to heal from the longing ache Emma’s absence had left within his heart.

“You rang, Sir?” Killian’s valet said upon entering.

“Yes,” Killian replied, tying together the edges of his robe. “I need to dress for an audience with my father, and then… I need you to pack my trunk.”

~/~

Lord Brennan Jones had always been a giant of a man in Killian’s eyes. Being the second born son, Killian had spent less time with his father than Liam had, therefore the man had always inhabited a pedestal within Killian’s mind where he projected an aura of might and invincibility about him. By the time his older brother had been lost at sea, however, Killian’s father had begun to deteriorate from the illness that confounded every doctor whose expertise the family had sought.

Called back to Swansdown from his studies at university, Killian had found himself treading unfamiliar waters as he came to grips with his brother’s death, his sudden elevation in status, and his father’s mortality, all threatening to drown him under the weight of unyielding grief and oppressive expectation. He had never resented his father for neglecting to pay him much attention as a child. That was simply how things were done in their sphere of influence. Something Killian had learned to accept - and even be grateful for - early on when he was allowed to end his lessons while Liam had to continue on with matters he would need to be proficient in as the future earl.

After dealing with the matter of Liam’s funeral and getting up to speed on the family’s interests, and his role in them as the new heir, Killian had returned to university to finish his degree. If he had thought the frivolity and debauchery in which the second and third borns embroiled themselves was a sight to be seen, it paled in comparison to the future titled gentlemen who knew their days of freedom and depravity were numbered. Killian had found himself welcomed into a new social circle, befriended by gentlemen who were destined to socially ascend even as they found themselves willingly descending morally until they were known as rakes, rogues, and scoundrels.

It was one such reprobate’s untoward actions that had changed Killian’s life forever. Hearing the scuffle from one of the hallways of his country home, Killian had opened the door to one of the storage rooms to find his drunken mate pawing at the new house maid. Killian had grabbed the man by the collar, wrenching him away from the poor lass, and had told her to go before anyone else came along. Later, he had sought the beauty out in order to apologize for his _friend’s_ actions and to assure her of his discretion.

Emma had given him a tongue lashing, the likes of which he had never received, and in no uncertain terms had suggested, quite strongly, that he find himself better friends before brushing past him, without leave.

He had been a goner from the start.

After Liam’s death, everyone had treated Killian differently. His former friends, the staff, even his own family, all applied a reverence and formality to their interactions with him while his new crew, men who had previously disregarded him, suddenly fawned over his attentions. While in public, Emma also had to treat him with the deference of his position; in private, however - once there had become a private between them, anyway - Emma had never treated him as anything but Killian. Her Killian. Just Killian.

Would he ever be _just Killian_ again?

Entering his father’s room, Killian steeled himself for what awaited him beyond the drawn curtains of the bed. Ever since he first fell ill, Brennan would experience episodes that would leave him bedridden for days or even weeks at a time. In the beginning, these episodes occurred once, maybe twice a year, but had grown in frequency and duration as of late. It pained Killian to see his once proud and virile father lying prone, weakened by the debilitating ailment that would some day soon claim his life.

Clearing his throat to alert his father of his presence, Killian stood by the edge of the bed and waited for the man’s acknowledgement. Brennan’s eyes slowly opened, blinking away the vestiges of his nap, and his head turned towards Killian, a smile weakly tugging at his lips.

“Killian, my boy,” he croaked. “It has been too long since you last came to see me.”

“Aye, Father. Forgive me,” Killian said, keeping his voice low. “I have been remiss.”

“That is not the only thing you have been of late,” his father teased with a knowing smirk. “Or so I hear.”

Rolling his eyes, Killian sighed. “Cora told you about--”

“Cora told me nothing,” he corrected. “I still hear things. I still stay apprised of the goings on regarding my family and their… _activities_. Seems you’ve been rather adventurous with your allowance and your liver this past month. If I did not know any better, I would say something is amiss?”

Reaching up, Killian scratched behind his ear, an old habit he had never been able to rid himself of, and one Emma had found endearing. Swallowing past the lump that had formed in his throat, Killian took a deep breath and said, “Aye, Father. That’s what I’ve come to discuss with you. I recently lost… that is, a few weeks ago I…” Struggling to maintain his composure, Killian finally managed to blurt out. “I must go abroad, Father. I must leave Swansdown.”

“Leave?” his father replied. “Why must you leave?”

All the strength Killian had mustered in order to hold his pain at bay failed him in that moment. Dropping to his knees beside his father’s bed, he buried his face in its side and sobbed, “Because she is gone. She’s gone and she’s never coming back. And even if she did, we can never…”

With silent comfort and the soft stroke of his hand over Killian’s hair, his father let him pour out all the pent up emotion he had tried so hard to bury deep within himself. Anguish and hopelessness, longing and anger, resentment and love released themselves through tears that flowed from his eyes as unhindered cries from the depths of his forlorn soul were muffled by the edge of the blankets.

When his torments were at last spent, Killian pulled away and turned his head aside in embarrassment, wiping the remnants of his sorrow from his cheeks as his chest hitched with shuddering breaths.

“Forgive me,” he said, still not able to look up at his father. “I do not know what came over me.”

“Aye, you do,” his father replied with a sad tone of commiseration. “As do I.”

“You do?”

Reaching over, Brennan placed a hand on Killian’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Aye. My heart was ravaged in much the same way when I lost your mother.”

Fresh tears swelled in Killian’s eyes.

“I understand now why you must leave, son,” Brennan continued. “I know not who the woman was, but given the years we have spent here at Swansdown, I can only surmise she was a local girl.” His father’s gaze changed, as though he were peering into a faraway time. “After your mother died, I could not stand to stay in our home in the city. Her ghost was at every turn, reminders of her around each corner. Staying there would have driven me mad with grief, so I relocated us here.” His vision came back into focus and he set his eyes upon Killian again. “Where not long after, I met your stepmother.” A wry smile pulled at his lips. “Though, you and your brother were none too pleased, about the move nor the additions to our family.”

Killian chuckled lightly at the memory of the tantrum he and Liam had thrown when his father had announced his engagement, then a question he had never considered asking before formed on his tongue.

“Do you love her?”

Brennan mulled the question for a moment. “That is not the question you wish to ask,” he said, knowingly. “What you really wish to know is whether I was capable of loving someone else after your mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and waited for his father’s answer.

“You are young, my son. You will find love again,” his father assured him. “Though, it will not be the same. Love never is.”

His father’s response solidified that which Killian already knew to be true; he would always love his Emma. No amount of time or distance would ever change the way he felt, and yet…

“You should go abroad, my son,” his father said. “Travel to other lands and see the world... while you still have the chance.”

Killian nodded as he stood, taking his father's hand and promising, “I shall send word from wherever I go, so I can be reached when… when my presence is required back home.”

“I know you will,” Brennan responded with an affectionate squeeze to his hand. “And when the time comes, I know you will step up and perform your duties with an excellence befitting of the Jones name.”

After saying his goodbyes to his father, stepmother, and stepsister, Killian stood in his bedroom one final time. His eyes took in the room around him while he allowed the memories it held to wash over him. Emma, wrapped in his arms whilst seated on his lap as they warmed themselves in front of the fire. Emma, standing at the foot of his bed, completely bare before him for the first time. Emma, snuggled beneath the covers, having fallen asleep as she waited for him to return from an evening obligation. Emma, beneath him, above him, on her knees in front of him, bent over his dressing table, stretched out over his bed. Her smile, her laugh, the way her eyes glittered and her nose scrunched up when she was amused. Her stubbornness, refusing to back down when she knew she was right. Her walls, crumbling under the careful dismantling she had allowed him to apply, brick by vulnerable brick.

“Shall I take the rest of your things down to the carriage, Sir?”

“Aye, thank you,” he said to his valet, securing the buckle on the satchel he would be keeping on his person while he traveled.

Making his way out the door, Killian paused at the threshold and pressed his fingers to his lips. This had been the spot where they had shared their last kiss, where he had last held her in his arms. If he had known then it would be the last time he would ever see her, he would not have let her go.

But he had, and now… he must do so again.

~/~

_Five Years Later…_


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

_Five Years Later..._

Killian Jones, Earl of Hookshire, shook open the morning paper with impatience. Forced to join his step-mother and sister for breakfast that morning so they could marshal a plan of attack, the earl chafed at being kept waiting when he had more important matters to attend to. However, according to Cora, there was nothing more pressing than the current Season and his step-sister’s entrance into society, which, as head of the family, _must be Killian’s primary focus if they were to succeed in securing Regina a proper match._ Or so Cora kept telling him.

“It’s here!” Cora announced, making her dramatic entrance into the dining room. “ _The Mirror_ has arrived!”

The squeal that left his step-sister set Killian’s teeth on edge.

“What does it say, Mother? Am I mentioned?”

Killian rolled his eyes and released a long-suffering sigh behind the crinkle of his paper. His _actual_ paper, which reported _actual_ news of _actual_ worth. Not the gossip rag his step-mother - and every other lady within the gentry, he would imagine - treated as gospel.

The Season had only begun yesterday, when the young ladies wishing to make an entrance into society had presented themselves before their new queen for inspection. No balls had even been held, no further events attended so the marriage-minded could be seen and appraised and courted. Indeed, everything officially kicked off that evening with the opening of a new opera honoring the Queen with a reception to follow. This was the quiet before the chaos truly began, and yet the rabble were still eager for their gossip, for any scrap of news that might indicate where their charges fell in the hierarchy of desirables, for any piece of intelligence that might steer them clear of unsavory intentions, and for any tasty tidbit that a scandal may be brewing so they could sink their teeth into it even as they feigned their disgust for such behaviours.

“Nothing about you specifically, no,” Cora replied, sinking gracefully into her seat while skimming the pamphlet. “Today’s edition is rather focused on the Queen.”

“The Queen?” Regina inquired, not even bothering to temper her curiosity. “What news of the Queen?”

Killian folded his paper and tucked it beside his plate, grateful that his step-mother’s arrival also meant the arrival of their meal. He would need sustenance if he was to endure the schedule his step-mother had carved out for them; promenades, balls, art galleries, operas - the list was endless, and Killian was all too aware that Cora’s marriage schemes for the Season went beyond Regina’s prospects. Her sights were clearly set on settling him with a suitable wife as well.

“It seems,” Cora informed them, “Her Majesty’s sister has arrived, hoping to join the Season. Accompanying her are her aunt and some distant cousin, who, according to _The Mirror_ , may well hope to secure herself a husband as well.”

“The Queen’s sister?” Regina exclaimed with a note of hysteria. “How am I to compete with the Queen’s sister and additional family member, no matter how distant the relation?”

“There is no need to fret,” Cora assured her. “We met Her Majesty’s sister at the royal wedding last year, remember? An insufferable chatterbox,” she exasperated disapprovingly. “And according to this,” she continued, gesturing at the pamphlet she was finally setting aside, “the distant cousin is a young widow with a small child. Even with her close association to the Queen, she will have a difficult time finding a gentleman willing to raise another man’s son before he himself has a chance to sire one.”

Cora turned her attention to the plate of food in front of her, but Killian could sense she was not done with the matter quite yet.

“Speaking of which,” Cora said, casting her eyes in Killian’s direction while daintily scooping up a morsel and bringing it up to her mouth. They both stared one another down while she savored the bite, only speaking again once she’d swallowed it down. “I trust you will be ready to accompany us to the opera tonight? And that you will at least _try_ to be charming and leave the churlish demeanor you seem to have acquired whilst abroad here at home?”

Killian huffed out a scoffing sound. _Home_. This place was no more a home to him than any of the places he’d traveled over the past several years. The only place he had ever truly felt at home was at Swansdown, but he had not set foot upon the estate since he’d left it five years ago. That is not to say he had not returned to his family from time to time. However, once his father’s condition had progressed to such a state that the doctors felt the inevitable was imminent, Lord Jones had insisted on being moved back to the city where he would be closer to his late wife’s resting place.

It was here that Killian had said his final goodbyes to the man, and complied with his wishes to be buried alongside Killian’s mother. It was here that his step-mother and sister had taken up residence, reveling in city life and utterly refusing to return to the doldrum of the country. It was here that Killian could continue to pretend the memories of Swansdown did not still haunt him, and that he might yet be able to do that which his duty required.

Five years and he was still unable to purge the memory of her. His Emma.

Every realm he’d visited, every kingdom whose hospitality he’d taken advantage of, even the open sea, where he’d felt sure he’d find solace, taunted him with glimpses of her. Not actual glimpses, of course. No. Cruel tricks of the mind that had him looking twice whilst in a crowd, certain he’d seen her face out of the corner of his eye. Strands of sunshine hair peeking out from a bonnet he simply had to make sure did not belong to her, knowing they never would. The sound of her laughter on a breeze, the scent of her lingering in a room, even the shimmer of her sea glass eyes, reflecting off the waves of the ocean as he stood upon another ship’s bow, hoping his next destination would provide him refuge from his recollections.

It had grown somewhat easier over time. Occasionally a memory would find its way to the forefront of his mind, and he found he was able to reflect upon it with more fondness than heartache. Eventually, he took comfort in other women. They were a pleasant distraction, but nothing more. Nothing that compared to the passion and intimacy he’d once shared with a woman who, despite all his efforts to the contrary, not a day had gone by he had not given thought of.

Shaking his head, Killian pushed aside those thoughts and focused on the here and now.

“I shall return in time to escort you both to the opera this evening,” he assured her. Wiping the corners of his mouth, he stood to excuse himself before she could begin to advise him on whose attentions he ought to woo with his charms and departed for his club, where he would at least be afforded a few hours of respite.

~/~

“Would it have killed you to add a dash of color to your wardrobe?” Cora chided as they were led into their box and settled themselves, placed on full display of the other attendees that evening. “Black is for mourning. You needn’t advertise your lamentations over taking a wife and ending your rakish ways.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of Killian’s lips. It had not been his intention to portray such an assertion when he’d gotten dressed, but he could not say he minded if that was the opinion others gathered from his appearance.

“I think you look rather dashing, Brother,” his step-sister, Regina, whispered conspiratorially into his ear as she leaned over towards him, looking as though she were straightening her skirts.

His smirk bloomed into an affectionate smile, and he threw his sister a wink. Despite the lack of blood shared between them, and the years that separated them, Killian had always had a soft spot for Regina. He’d often wondered if she hadn’t been the reason his father had proposed to the newly widowed woman who had been left with a mountain of debt after her husband’s passing. Barely holding on to the very bottom rung of the gentry, Cora Mills had set her ambitions upon the widower earl the instant he had relocated to the country with his young sons.

Killian, though all of ten at the time, remembered the moment she had finally caught his father’s attention. They’d held a picnic on the lawns of Swansdown for the entire village and surrounding estates to attend. Killian had been chasing some of the local boys in a game of tag while his father conversed with Liam nearby. The game had promptly come to an end when Killian heard his father’s booming laugh echo across the grounds. It was a sound Killian had been quite sure he would never hear again, given the grief his father had exhibited after his mother’s death.

Reaching down, his father scooped up a wobbly legged little girl, who had wrapped her arms around his shins, clearly having just recently acquired this new skill. She had responded with an infectious giggle and bright smile, grabbing onto his face as her mother breezed her way towards him with an apology on her lips and a coy glimmer in her eye. Brennan had been smitten with Regina from the start, doting on her in a way he might have hoped to do with a daughter of his own some day. It had taken Liam and Killian a bit longer to warm up to her, but eventually, they both began to consider her their sister, and had determined to look out for her as good older brothers should.

A determination Killian had recommitted himself to when he became the head of the family last year, and had seen firsthand how she had suffered under the oppressive, overbearing, ambitious leanings of his step-mother.

Regina had always been a tad spoiled, but her kind heart and gentle nature - which she had to have inherited from her father - had always mitigated any entitled or over-indulged tendencies that might have rooted into her character. However, she had also always been eager to please, especially when it came to her mother; a woman who had never once been satisfied by anyone or anything in her life. Killian knew if he did not act in Regina’s best interest, she would likely kowtow to Cora’s wishes and agree to marry a man she held no affection for whatsoever, simply so Cora could advance in her own social standing. Cora had aspirations and it mattered not to the woman that all her daughter wished for was love.

If she could not receive the love she’d longed for all her life from the mother who should have given it unconditionally, then Killian would be damn sure she’d find it in a husband who would lavish it upon her all the days of his life.

One of them should have the opportunity of such happiness, and seeing as Killian had lost his years ago, he was all the more determined that his sister would have the happy ending he could not.

Opportunities, it seemed, that would be presenting themselves this very evening.

While the crowd waited for the start of the performance, another production entertained the throng; a show of men peacocking themselves from box to box as they performed for a chorus of eligible young ladies whilst they in turn displayed their wiles in demurely flicked glances and flirtatiously unfurled fans. A number of potential suitors presented themselves at the Jones’ box in hopes of an introduction with the earl’s sister. Killian assessed each man with a critical eye, while his step-mother and sister engaged in vapid pleasantries.

After nearly an hour, Killian began to grow bored with the entire affair, but was saved from having to wave off new admirers, and thereby earning him his step-mother’s disapproval, when a buzz of murmuring intrigue filled the air.

“It must be the Queen!” Regina exclaimed, pulling her attention away from the last of the young men who had come to pay call.

While all eyes and opera glasses were trained upon the Royal Box, awaiting the appearance of Her Majesty Queen Elsa and her entourage, Cora escorted the young man out of their box while Killian took a moment to close his eyes and refocus his energy.

“Mother? Brother?” Regina inquired. With reluctance, Killian opened his eyes and gave his sister his attention, even though hers was firmly affixed across the auditorium. “Do you find the young woman in attendance next to the Queen’s sister at all familiar?”

Knowing he was unlikely to gauge whether the woman was known to them or not, seeing as he’d been out of touch with Misthaven society for so long and had never traveled to the northern realm their new Queen hailed from, Killian relaxed back into his seat, relieved the ushers had started to dim the lights. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his step-mother raise her opera glasses in the direction of the Royal Box. His brows scrunched together in perplexity when he saw her posture stiffen, and heard a startled gasp fall from her lips.

He had never known his step-mother to be taken aback by anything. Curious as to what could have caused such a reaction, Killian peered across the mezzanine to where the Queen sat with her entourage, and squinted at each woman seated within her box until his eyes landed on…

_No. It can’t be._

Snatching Regina’s opera glasses from her hands, Killian raised them to his eyes and let out a muttered curse. He’d just gotten them to focus on the blonde woman in question when she became shrouded in the shadows of the curtains next to her as the final lanterns were turned low for the start of the performance.

“Well?” Regina whispered. “Do either of you recognize her?”

“No,” Cora clipped out stiffly, turning her attention to the stage. But not before Killian caught a glimpse of the furtive glance cast his way.

“I’m afraid I did not get a good enough look,” he replied to Regina as the orchestra swelled with the start of the overture. His sister shrugged her shoulders and joined her mother, engrossing herself within the opera while Killian mulled over the fresh drama currently playing itself out within him.

More of his attention was spent glancing over at the Royal Box, hoping the woman might shift in her seat, or perhaps excuse herself from the box in need of air or refreshment. Maddeningly, she remained steadfast, never wavering in her posture as she remained concealed in darkness.

Had it not been for Cora’s strange behaviour, Killian would have already convinced himself he was being ridiculous for thinking it was her. A former maid, born in poverty and raised as a humble orphan now in the companionship of the Queen? The idea was ludicrous, and yet… Killian would not be convinced of its absurdity until he had gotten a good look, until he could say with absolute certainty it was not her.

When at last the opera was at its end, Killian immediately stood and waited with bated breath as the ushers brought up the flames, his eyes trained on the woman whose identity had vexed him all evening. Once again, he was thwarted by ill timing as the woman stood and turned towards the exit as lantern light flooded the space around her, leaving only her back to his clear view. Entering the crush of people making their way to the lobby where the reception was to be held, Killian tried to calm his racing heart as he steered Cora and Regina to a quiet corner. The wait for Her Majesty’s arrival was excruciating, but when she and her entourage finally made their way down the grand staircase, Killian’s mouth fell open and his breath stilled in his lungs.

Somehow, impossibly, miraculously, descending the stairs with her eyes trained on the woman prattling on beside her, a smile she’d once worn for him gracing her lips, was her. Emma. His Emma.

While Her Majesty and her attendants established themselves in the cordoned off area reserved for the Queen, a swell of eager sycophants rushed forward in the hopes of gaining an audience or an introduction. Killian’s eyes remained locked on Emma, who took in a deep breath and wet her lips before turning her gaze to the crowd in front of her. Her eyes scanned the throng, clearly in search of someone, and when their eyes met, Killian knew she’d been looking for him. Her lips parted and her breath hitched, much like his own. Without thought, Killian began to make his way forward, but was halted by a firm hand on his arm.

“I think it best we take our leave,” Cora said, gaining Regina’s attention.

“So soon? What if there are still gentlemen who wish to meet me?”

“Everyone’s focus is on the Queen and her family,” Cora told her. “You do not want to appear desperate, accepting the attentions of their cast-offs. So, no.” Fixing her eyes upon Killian once more, she restated, “We should take our leave, and avoid any risk of unfavorable talk.”

Flicking his eyes towards his sister, Killian leaned in to whisper into Cora’s ears, ensuring Regina did not overhear, “You recognize her, don’t you?”

“We will not discuss it here,” Cora hissed low at him. “Too many ears. We do not wish to make a scene.”

Killian’s jaw clenched, the muscle above pulsating as he warred with himself. Cora was right. If he went to her now, there was bound to be a scene, and he did not relish the idea of their reunion happening within view of the vultures who were eager for even a hint of impropriety to pick over. He knew he would not be able to maintain his composure, a conflict of emotion was already churning in his gut and gnawing at his heart, so with great reluctance Killian nodded at his step-mother and ushered both her and Regina towards the Opera House exit.

Looking back, he could see the disappointment forlornly displayed on her features before she was forced to school them and greet the man being presented to her in introduction. Killian’s nostrils flared from the sharp inhale he took at watching the man place a kiss upon the back of his Emma’s gloved hand, and his teeth ground together at the sight of many more eager ponces awaiting their opportunity to woo her with flattery.

Cora clipped out his name, calling him back from the precipice of wanting to push his way through the crowd and stake his claim. Knowing she was not actually his to claim, and never had been, mattered not in that moment. Fortunately, for the sake of everyone’s reputation involved, he forced himself to abide by his stepmother’s wishes and departed.

~/~

She was the woman _The Mirror_ had reported as being a distant cousin of the Queen. Mrs. Emma Swan. Not long widowed and left with a son to raise on her own. The small amount her husband had left her, as well as her connection to royalty, was all she had in the way of a dowry, but what she lacked in funds or status - her husband had been in possession of a knighthood, it seemed - she more than made up for in beauty, poise, and wit. Or so said the men at Killian’s club later that same evening when they had retired there, as he had, after the opera and reception.

Upon returning to the house within the city, Cora had begged off with a complaint of a headache, which infuriated Killian. They should discuss the matter, shouldn’t they? Even though his step-mother knew nothing of his affair with Emma, the fact she had once served as their maid and was now among their Queen’s inner circle was a development fraught with potential scandal. Something his step-mother would typically be quick to quell, lest the Jones name be tarnished and her chance of advancing through her children’s prospects ruined.

Knowing he would get nowhere on the matter with Cora that evening, and desperate for any information he could uncover about Emma and her association with the Queen, Killian had gone to his club to await the other men who would surely arrive once their own escort and chaperoning duties were complete. Though he’d had to temper his anger and keep a tight rein on his urge to punch a few of them out for their bawdy comments, their information had been invaluable.

In addition to learning about her financial and marital situation (the latter, that she had found love and married another man, had cut him to the quick before he could push it aside for the time being), Killian had also discovered that Emma was not staying at the palace, but was in fact staying at Frost House, the residence the Queen’s aunt, Ingrid, had procured in preparation of the Season. The palace had too many restrictions and protocols which would make it more challenging for suitors to call, so she had felt it more practical for her and her nieces to dwell in a less intimidating setting whilst her charges sought their matches.

The next morning, Killian had planned to present himself at Frost House first thing, but Regina’s own line of admirers had delayed his intentions. By the time he arrived, there was already a bevy of suitors awaiting their turn to be announced and led into the drawing room. Killian took little solace in the knowledge that some of the gathered men were there for an audience with the Queen’s sister, Anna, and not his Emma, so by the time he gave his name to the butler, he’d had to dig deep for a tone of civility.

“Ah, Lord Jones,” the butler responded. “Would you be good enough to follow me?”

Elation bubbled within Killian’s chest. Emma must have expected he would call. Perhaps, she had devised a plan that would allow them some privacy for when first they met? Surely that was where the butler was leading him now.

The man asked him to wait in the small parlor then drew the pocket doors closed, leaving Killian to stew. Fingers fidgeting at his sides, Killian admonished himself for not bringing her flowers. Pacing the length of the room, he played every possible scenario of their reunion through his mind. By the time the doors reopened, Killian’s heart was racing with anticipation. Spinning around, he held his breath, ready to reunite with the woman he had longed for - for five excruciating years.

It seemed, however, he would have to wait a bit longer.

“Lord Jones,” an older woman, who Killian recognized as the Queen’s aunt, greeted him. “I am Lady Frost.”

Killian bowed his head towards her in reverence, then cast his gaze behind her, hoping his Emma might be lingering in the hall.

“I am afraid it will not be possible for you to see her--”

“My Lady,” Killian protested. It had not even occurred to him that he would be barred from seeing her, had never dreamed that anyone currently involved in Emma’s life would even know about him. Surely she would have kept her past a secret from them?

Lady Frost held up her hand to stay his objection and continued, “It will not be possible for you to see her _this morning_ , as I am sure you can agree it would be best for such a… complicated meeting to occur without an audience of your peers.”

Killian swallowed heavily and asked, “So… you are aware of my past association with Em...er, Mrs. Swan?”

“I am.”

“What, uh… what did she tell you about--”

“I know everything, My Lord,” the woman stated with a pointed look that told Killian she did, indeed, know exactly what sort of relationship he and Emma had once shared. “And if you would be so inclined as to return later for tea, I can guarantee an audience with my… _niece_ , and allow you the opportunity to get reacquainted with one another.”

Killian opened his mouth once more, ready to object and insist he see Emma now, when a coy smirk lifted the corner of the woman’s lips. “Who knows, I might even find myself being called away during your visit, leaving the two of you to your own devices. Which, I am sure, would be nothing but proper. What say you, My Lord? Shall we expect you for tea?”

Killian looked past the woman once more, his gaze traveling down the hall towards the drawing room where he knew Emma sat with a horde of men vying for her attention. Loathe as he was to leave without so much as a glance from her, Killian knew the delay would be worth it. Alone, they could be candid with one another. He would be able to get the answers to the questions that had plagued him all these years, and had vexed him since seeing her descend that staircase last evening. Alone, they would not have to be Lord Killian Jones, Earl of Hookshire and Mrs. Emma Swan, widow of Sir Swan, but could instead be Killian and Emma. Just as they had been once before.

“I accept your invitation, Lady Frost, and look forward to spending tea time with you and Mrs. Swan,” Killian responded. Before she could depart, Killian implored, “Please. Give Emma my regards?”

She gave him a soft smile, her eyes conveying a sense of commiseration as she assured him, “I will.”

~/~

“Do sit down, my child. You’ll wear a hole through the carpets.”

Emma ignored Ingrid’s comment and kept right on pacing, her thumb nail ravaged by the worry of her teeth as her eyes couldn’t help but cast themselves upon the drawing room door every few seconds.

“What if he does not come?”

“He’ll come.”

“What if he comes only to tell me he never wishes to see me again?”

“Preposterous. The man I met this morning was ready to go to blows when he thought he might be prohibited from seeing you.”

“Alright, well… what if, once he learns everything, he is too angry to--”

“Emma,” Ingrid admonished. Standing, she gently placed her hands upon Emma’s shoulders, halting her stride and her spiraling thoughts. With earnest and assured eyes, Ingrid gazed down at Emma and professed, “He may very well become angry, but my dearest, this is the moment you have longed for. Even if he should require time to come to grips with the truth revealed to him this day, you both deserve the chance to work through it and finally claim the happiness you were previously denied.”

Emma blinked back tears and swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat. Leaning in, she gave Ingrid a fierce hug of gratitude, not just for her assurances in this moment, but for all she had done for Emma over the years, despite the ruse Emma had initially perpetuated against her and her family.

When she’d left Swansdown, Emma only had a vague plan of what to do next. Jostling despondently in the back of the Jones family carriage, in which Lady Jones had arranged for her to be taken to the village, Emma had slipped the ring that had once been her mother’s onto her left hand. It had been given to the nuns when she’d been brought to the orphanage, the intention being for them to sell it and use the funds to care for Emma. Knowing it was the only keepsake she would have of her parents, the nuns had held onto it, returning it to her when she was finally old enough to leave the orphanage and make her own way in the world. Emma had always kept it tucked away within her things. Unable to part with it for any monetary gain, it held no other use to her than a painful reminder of the parents she had only vague recollections of.

Until now.

When she arrived at the staging post, she’d reserved a spot on one of the public coaches as Mrs. Emma Swan. With the ring, the money she’d received from Lady Jones, and a new destination far from Misthaven, Emma knew this was her chance to start anew. She would present herself as a young widow in need of a position that would ease the financial burden her husband’s untimely death had left her in, to say nothing of the unexpected circumstances she was now facing.

Once at port, she’d booked passage on the first ship leaving Misthaven, not at all concerned with its destination. After arriving in Arendelle and taking a room at a respectable boarding house, Emma had combed the advertisements until she found the type of position she’d been hoping for. A prominent family was in need of a companion who might assist one of their own as they convalesced from a prolonged illness. Emma had answered the advertisement the next day, reciting the story she had crafted during her voyage across the sea, and had been hired on the spot.

Over the many months she served as Ingrid’s companion, a sort of bond had formed between them that Emma could only imagine she might have shared with her mother. Likewise, Ingrid’s nieces, who were a constant fixture in their aunt’s part of their country home, wishing to aid in the woman’s recovery as well, had begun to take on the roles of sisters with Emma. Many times, Emma had wanted to tell them the truth, but feared their reproach and condemnation, so she kept the secret of her child’s true paternity, and the forbidden love she still held in her heart for its father, buried deep within herself.

That is, until the night her son was born.

Looking down into his perfect little face, with tufts of dark hair sticking out at odd angles, and features she had been desperate to keep sharp within her memory now realized in miniature form, Emma felt a swell of longing rise up within her; one she was helpless to drive back when he looked up and gazed at her for the first time with his father’s eyes. Tears and sobs and broken utterances that confessed the truth of her pain, revealing the scandal and heartbreak she had endured, and the desperate ache she felt in craving the feel of her lover’s arms around her as she held tight to the son he would never know poured out from her as the women who she had come to think of as family stood by.

Chest heaving, eyes burning, and heart teetering between anguish for all she had lost and elation for the joy within her arms, Emma braced herself for Ingrid, Elsa, and Anna’s reactions. When the expectant reprimand did not come, fresh tears filled Emma’s eyes as all three women climbed onto her bed to hold her and her son tight within their embrace. Nothing was said regarding her shocking admission until the next day, after she’d been afforded some rest, and even then, the simple remark was given with nothing but love behind its intent.

_“You are family, Emma,” Ingrid had told her. “You and your son shall be regarded as a part of this family from this day forward, and just as you took care of me, I shall take care of you.”_

Over the next few years, Emma had thrown herself into motherhood, caring for and getting to know her son as he rapidly grew into his own little person. There were times when it had been difficult. Times when she saw so much of his father in him it physically hurt. Ingrid had offered many times to reach out and see what news she could uncover about Killian, but Emma had refused. She did not want to know, did not think she could face the reality that he might very well have already inherited his father’s title and taken a wife. Perhaps had even already sired an heir he would dote on and groom into the very image of himself, poised to take on the same destiny and responsibility that, if the fates had been kinder, could have been passed on to her son. _Their_ son.

Ingrid had tried to convince her to enter the Arendelle Season in search of potential happiness, though she knew Emma still loved her son’s father deeply. Emma had refused to be placed within the marriage market, but had accompanied the family for Elsa’s coming out Season. As fate would have it, Arendelle would have within their midst the most eligible of bachelors, for the newly crowned King of Misthaven himself had ventured to their land to find himself a wife suitable for the crown. And find her he did. Elsa caught the eye of the monarch from the very land Emma had run from and by the end of the Season, Elsa was to be the new Queen of Misthaven.

It was during the final weeks of Elsa’s wedding preparations that Emma finally received her first scrap of news of Killian since she’d left him four years earlier. The now Dowager Countess of Hookshire had replied that she would be in attendance, as would her stepson, the new earl, and had requested an additional invitation for her daughter, Regina. No request had been issued for the new earl’s wife, which had led Elsa to believe he was not yet married. She and Anna both had done their best to persuade Emma to reach out to him, but she could not bring herself to do so, regardless of how much she’d wished to.

It was simply the wrong time, she had argued. He had just lost his father and taken on the mantle of earl, how could she add to his burdens by suddenly appearing after all this time? In truth, she had let fear and doubt consume her, allowed it to trap her behind walls that had been scaled and left in ruin, first by Killian, then by her new family, but always with remnant enough to rebuild in times of apprehension and dismay. She’d permitted the fortification to go so far as to miss the wedding altogether, using her son’s distaste for travel as an excuse to remain behind. A decision she immediately wished she could have taken back, contrite over her absence on Elsa’s big day while lamenting the possibility she may have missed her one chance at happiness.

During the past year, Elsa relayed every piece of news she received regarding the Earl of Hookshire while establishing her court and immersing herself in Misthaven society. The years he spent abroad, the fact he had not returned to Swansdown since leaving the country only weeks after she had, despite his father’s ailment, the reports that he seemed uninterested in taking a wife, regardless of how persistent his step-mother was with her not-so-subtle urgings, and the speculation that he would have to relent sooner rather than later were all carefully conveyed to her in Elsa’s letters, which contained their own persuasive promptings lacking all pretenses of subtlety.

In spite of her instincts, telling her to run in the opposite direction lest she face a pain more agonzing than that which she currently carried, Emma had agreed to join Anna for the Misthaven Season with the intent of finally facing Killian. Though her uncertainty did attempt to get the better of her, Emma knew this may well be her last chance, _their_ last chance. She had no way of knowing if Killian still felt for her what she did for him, but didn’t she owe it to herself to find out? Didn’t she owe it to him? And what of their son? Didn’t he deserve the chance to know his father, and for his father to have the opportunity to know him in return? Even if convention would not allow them to claim each other publicly, did she not owe them the chance of doing so privately?

She’d once wished to keep such a burden from him, the burden of potentially being torn between two duties, between two families, but what if he did not have to live with such a burden? What if, after all this time and with the strength and power of the very monarch herself in Emma’s corner, they could bypass the barriers of class and station and peerage and be the family she had always secretly hoped they could be?

Hope was not something that came easily to Emma, but she managed to hold onto it nonetheless. During her voyage back to Misthaven, settling into the house Ingrid had acquired, readying herself for the opera where the ton would get their first glimpse of the widowed, distant cousin of the Queen who had come to find herself a husband so she might provide security and a future for her young son, none of them knowing she already had her sights set on a specific man; one who had won her heart long ago and to whom she still wished to belong.

Arriving at the opera had been an anxious affair. Elsa had inquired as to which families were in attendance, asking specifically of those who had the most eligible of bachelors her sister and cousin might wish to consider an introduction from. When the head usher had confirmed the Earl of Hookshire was, indeed, in attendance with his step-mother and sister, Emma’s heart had jumped into her throat. Anna had taken her hand, not relinquishing it for a moment when they entered the Royal Box amid the murmurs and stares of the gathered mob.

Gazing across the mezzanine, Emma’s breath hitched when her eyes finally landed upon him. Head tilted back with his eyes clamped shut, he’d pinched the bridge of his nose not even attempting to school the expression she had seen on her son’s face countless times when he was overly put out. He’d only grown more handsome, donned in all black with an aura of confidence befitting his title and duty. A duty that had her opera glasses trained on Emma. Regina’s expression, when she briefly lowered them to say something to her mother and brother, worried Emma that she might have recognized the woman who had once served her family as a maid.

Worry and hope and the prickling sensation that she was being watched had plagued her during the performance, but it was nothing in comparison to the panic that had started to quiver through her extremities when the show was at an end and she knew the moment she had been waiting for was literally right around the next corner. Descending the stairs, she was grateful that Anna kept a constant stream of one sided conversation going while Emma got up the nerve to look for him. Taking a deep breath of hopeful resolve, she finally swept her eyes over the amassed crowd until they locked onto the forget-me-not hue she saw each day shining up at her from her son’s gaze.

His expression had been more than she’d hoped for. Astonishment, yes. Bewilderment, of course. But also, the way he had always looked upon her during those moments of soft intimacy as though he could not quite believe his luck in having her next to him, shone across the grand lobby of the packed opera house and swept away all awareness of anyone or anything but one another.

When he’d stepped forward, only to be halted by a tug on his arm and what was surely a sharp remark from his step-mother, Emma’s hands had balled into fists at her sides. Her heart plummeted when she saw him nod and acquiesce to her demand they leave, evident in their prompt departure. She’d only managed to blink back tears when he turned his gaze towards her once more, but was unable to provide him with any reassurance he might have been seeking as a young man was suddenly in front of her, eager for her attention.

She hadn’t slept much, if at all, last night, tossing and turning in trepidation. After having seen the initial response Killian gave at seeing Emma, Ingrid had suggested they may wish to have their first meeting together in private, and that, should he call upon her the next morning, he be asked to return at a time when such a rendezvous would be possible. Reluctantly, Emma had agreed. Each passing minute of that morning had been excruciating as she entertained poor hapless men who would never be able to woo her as they wished, all the while waiting for some indication that the man who had already succeeded had finally arrived.

It had taken everything within her to remain in the drawing room when Ingrid excused herself, desperate for a glimpse of him and eager for news as to whether he’d agreed to come back for tea. Elation and hope had bloomed once more when Ingrid returned and gave her a reassuring nod, but as the hours passed, fear and doubt were once more threatening to drag her back behind her walls where she could remain safe in the citadel built upon falsehoods, secrecy, and Killian’s own ignorance.

“Presenting the Earl of Hookshire, My Lady,” the butler finally announced, ushering Killian into the room.

He froze when his gaze met hers, both caught in a maelstrom of uncertainty as they tried to determine how they should greet one another after all this time. Propriety won out for the moment as Killian turned his gaze to Ingrid and greeted her with the reverence and civility dictated by his station before returning his focus to her as he hesitantly approached.

“It is a pleasure to see you again… Mrs. Swan,” he murmured, taking her hand and bowing over it while placing a kiss along the back of her glove.

Emma could see the muscle in his jaw clench after he bit out the title and surname he had no idea was an alias, and her heart constricted at the realization of how it must have pained him to think she had fallen in love and married another man. When his eyes flicked back up to hers, however, she saw only hopeful promise in his gaze as his thumb absent-mindedly caressed the hand he still had gripped within his own.

“We are most glad you agreed to our invitation, Lord Jones,” Ingrid said, pointedly ignoring the charged atmosphere Emma could feel crackling around them. “Unfortunately, I will not be able to remain, as I have a number of things requiring my attention. I trust you will not hold it against me.”

Without taking his eyes off Emma, Killian replied, “Of course not, Lady Frost. Please, do not let us detain you further.”

Emma pulled her eyes away from his and watched Ingrid depart, a coy smile lifting the corners of the woman’s mouth and an encouraging wink sent Emma’s way before she closed the doors behind her. Wetting her lips while attempting to regulate her breathing and racing pulse, Emma turned her attention back to Killian.

“Won’t you come and have a seat, My Lord,” she invited, though she made no move towards the settee herself.

“Killian,” he rasped, causing the fine hairs of her arm to stand at attention. “Please. If it is not too bold, Mrs. Swan. Just… just Killian.”

“Emma,” she immediately reciprocated, swaying in closer to him as he did towards her. “Please, Killian. Just Emma.”

“Emma,” he breathed before his lips came crashing down upon hers.

The kiss transported her to another time and place, where they used to sneak such intimacies in quick dalliances within dark corners, the rush of potential catastrophe looming over them only serving to heighten the thrill. There was no such danger here, though. Emma knew the servants had all been instructed to not disturb Lord Jones’ visit until it was time for Emma to dress for dinner at the palace, but that did not mean this occasion was not fraught with its own sense of thrill and peril.

The thrill of having him in her arms again, pulled flush against his chest as his tongue begged for entrance at the seam of her lips and she swallowed the moan that ensued upon its entry. The peril of being devoured, of thoroughly losing herself to the sensation of his touch, the demand of his mouth, and the sounds of his desperation as he pressed her against the paneling of the wall and groped at her skirt in order to hitch her leg over his hip.

“Emma,” he moaned again, his breath hot against her ear. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” she panted in reply, combing her fingers through his hair while his mouth scorched a trail down the column of her throat. “You have no idea how much.”

“Show me,” he challenged in a gruff command, reminiscent of the man she’d often accused of being more scoundrel pirate than distinguished gentleman.

Emma raked her nails down the back of his coat, digging in as hard as she could so he would feel their bite through his many layers. He groaned into her bosom, where his attentions were currently centered, when she gripped his backside and pulled his hips further into hers as she canted up to meet his hardening length.

Five years and her body still responded to his with the familiarity and hunger it had when last they enjoyed the pleasures of one another’s flesh. She knew how he liked to be teased, touched, taunted into madness, driven wild with desire until the last vestiges of his control snapped and he took her with the abandon she craved in moments of frenzied passion such as this. However, as much as she would love nothing more than to make up for lost time, Ingrid’s drawing room, in the middle of the day, when they had much to discuss, probably wasn’t the best moment.

Now if she could just convince herself to form the words on her tongue and insist they stop before things went too far. Difficult to manage when she could feel the heat of his palm gliding over her stockings as it traveled up the back of her thigh while his mouth plundered hers once more.

They remained like this for countless minutes. Hands roaming over one another, each pass nearly giving in to the temptation to remove the garments that hindered their desire to feel the bareness of the other’s skin beneath their touch. Mouths feasting on the limited amount of exposed skin there was, with hot swipes of tongue and teasing nips of teeth. Hips rolling against the parts of themselves crying out for any measure of relief from the throbbing ache of need. It wasn’t until the mantle clock beside them chimed, alerting them to the precious time that had already passed that they finally came to their senses.

“That was…” Killian panted, his lips hovering over hers as he vacillated between proper decorum and primal urgings.

“Five years overdue, and something that shall have to, unfortunately, be tabled for the time being,” Emma said, still pinned to the wall with her leg draped over his hip and his arm caging her in on one side where it was braced against the paneling. She drew in a shaky breath. “We haven’t long before I must dress for dinner at the palace, and I can only imagine you have a number of questions.”

He lowered her leg from around his waist, then reached up and cupped her face in both of his hands. “How?” he asked in a tone of awed incredulity. “How are you here? In the company of the Queen, no less. How did you manage to--”

“Come,” Emma insisted, taking one of his hands as she gently pushed against his chest. “Let us sit.”

Following her to the settee, they both sat and Emma worked up the nerve to tell him all he had a right to know. Choosing to begin with the easiest course, she told him of how she had travelled to Arendelle after leaving Swansdown, and had become a companion to Ingrid.

“Over time, they began to regard us as family, and--”

“Us?”

Emma’s breath caught in her lungs. Releasing it in a shuddering exhale, she wet her lips and clarified, “Me and… my son.”

Again, Killian’s jaw clenched. The words that should have come next stuck in her throat as his gaze fell to the floor.

“Killian, I--”

“I’m sorry, Emma.”

Blanching, Emma asked, “What for?”

“For driving you away,” he forlorned. “For declaring my love for you that morning when you were not ready to hear it.”

“You… you think I left because--”

“You said it yourself that final morning we were together. It was folly.”

Emma’s heart dropped into her stomach at his words, the sting of them piercing through her.

Killian raised his eyes to meet hers once more, and the look within their blue hue applied an immediate balm to the unintended wound. “Not my love for you, but for thinking we could carry on as we had been without suffering the pain you knew we were headed towards.”

“Killian. There’s something you must know about why I--”

“Did you love him?”

Emma’s brow scrunched at the abrupt interruption and sudden change in topic, and mindlessly asked, “Who?”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he reached up to scratch behind his ear as he choked out in stammering inquiry, “Your husband... The father of your child. Did you love him? Did he... make you happy?”

Emma couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips. She had always found his tell endearing and knew it meant that while he was averse to the idea she had, indeed, found love and happiness with her _husband_ , he was also loathe to think she had not. Little did he know _he_ was the very man in question, despite the fact there had never been a union, other than carnal, between them.

“Yes,” she answered, softly. “He made me very happy, and I… I shall always love him.”

Taking in a deep, fortifying breath, Emma prepared herself once more to confess the truth when Killian grasped both of her hands and turned pleading eyes on her.

“I know many years have passed, and we have both lived our lives during the course of them. I do not begrudge you for finding happiness with another, just as I hope you will not think unfavorably of me for attempting to do the same.”

Though Emma had held no misconceptions that he would have remained celibate all these years, as she had, the confirmation that he had taken comfort in other women did hurt, and she had to take a moment to reconcile those feelings, missing her chance to tell him the reason as to why she’d left Swansdown before he continued on.

“I also know that much has happened over these past five years, and we are not the same people we once were. You have lost a husband and now have a child to consider, but Emma,” he pleaded.

The desperate look on his face had fresh tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Killian--”

“I love you still,” he declared, barreling on with proclamations he could no longer keep silent. “I have never stopped loving you, and I know I can be a good husband to you. A good father to your son--”

“Killian, please. There’s something you must know--”

“--with your elevated status as a knight’s widow, and your association with the Queen, there is nothing standing in our way now--”

“But Killian, I--”

“Clearly there is still something between us. Something we can nurture, until one day, perhaps you might be capable of loving me again, as you once did. As you do _him--_ ”

“Killian, listen to me,” Emma snapped, finally stalling his words and pulling a contrite expression from him.

“Forgive me, love,” he replied. “I promise I shall listen to anything you have to tell me, so long as you answer this one question first.” Slipping off the settee, Killian got down on one knee and Emma could scarcely breathe. “Emma Swan? Will you mar--”

Emma could not let him ask such a question until he knew the truth, but could think of no other way of stopping him except with the press of her lips. Taking his face in her hands, she pulled his mouth to her own to cut off his words, but no sooner had their lips met than the sound of a knock preceding the butler’s entry forced them apart.

“Begging your pardon, madam, but it is time for you to dress for dinner.”

“Yes, thank you,” Emma replied, standing from the settee with a fresh heat coloring her cheeks at having been caught in such an intimate embrace. “His Lordship and I shall just be another moment.”

Casting her gaze upon Killian, Emma did not know what to say. There was still so much he did not know, so much she had not the courage to tell him while she had the chance.

“What was it you wanted to tell me?” he asked, clearly pushing aside his disappointment at not being able to have his question asked and answered.

Flicking her eyes towards the door, and the butler who was waiting within earshot to show Killian out, Emma knew she could not tell him now. She knew better than anyone how servants enjoyed their gossip, and she did not know the staff they’d hired to serve at Frost House well enough to trust them with such information.

“It can wait,” she told him. “Come back tomorrow? Call upon me in the morning, and we can resume our conversation.”

“Without the added complication of your many suitors standing in line behind me, I hope?” he quipped.

Surprised by the churlish tone he did not manage to keep hidden, and perhaps a bit amused by it, Emma cocked her brow and teased, “If I did not know any better, I would say you were jealous.”

The muscle above his jaw flickered and his eyes darkened ever so slightly as a heavy exhale left his chest. Having pity on him, Emma assured, “I only agreed to receive callers this morning for Anna’s sake. She was petrified at the notion of entertaining admirers on her own.” Cupping his cheek, she smiled when he nuzzled his face into her palm. “I promise, I shall receive no one but you from this point forward. For I have no wish of anyone else’s company.”

Lifting her hand from his face, Killian brushed his lips across the back of her glove and agreed, “Until tomorrow then. When I shall endeavor to hear you out before insisting you give me the chance to pose my question again. Properly this time.” Squeezing her hand gently, he gave her a devilish wink, then departed.

~/~

Killian gathered the necessary papers he would need for his appointment, and checked his pocket watch once they’d all been secured in his satchel. He would have to hurry in order to make it to the solicitor before the man closed his office for the night.

“Where do you think you are off to?” Cora inquired, descending the stairs before he could make his exit. “And where were you all afternoon? You were supposed to accompany your sister and me for our afternoon ride.”

“Apologies, Mother. I received an invitation to have tea this afternoon with a young woman and her aunt, and I am now on my way to an appointment.”

Attempting once more to make it out the door, Killian sighed as his step-mother called him back.

“An appointment? At this hour of the evening? What could possibly be so urgent? And who is the young lady?”

Knowing he would not be able to keep it from her, and that it was probably best they discuss the matter before he made things with Emma official, Killian gestured towards his office and shut the door behind them.

“I went to Frost House this morning to see Emma, and was invited for tea by Lady Frost.”

“You what?” Cora exclaimed. “What… what did the girl say to you? Did she tell you why--”

“We did not get much of a chance to discuss things,” Killian said, pawing at the patch behind his ear that had begun to flare from the awkwardness he felt at recalling why they had not the time for a sufficient conversation whilst in the presence of his step-mother. “But I am returning there tomorrow morning. As requested.”

Something flashed in Cora’s eyes, and a look he might have mistaken for relief crossed her features before she objected, “Do not tell me you intend to court our former maid!”

“No one must ever find out she was once our maid,” Killian asserted. “It would only bring embarrassment upon Emma, and by extension the Queen, to say nothing of the damage it could do to Regina’s prospects.”

“I quite agree,” Cora stated. “Which is why I cannot fathom how you could have been foolish enough to go see her.”

Killian steeled himself with a steady breath before confessing, “You should know, Mother, that while she… Emma and I had an affair whilst she worked for us. And we fell in love. It’s why she left. She knew there was no hope of a future together, but now…”

“Now what?” Cora demanded. “Nothing has changed. You cannot possibly be considering--”

“ _Everything_ has changed, don’t you see? Her status as a nobleman’s widow, her association with the Queen? So long as no one ever discovers her true identity, Emma and I can finally be together.”

“You might be able to fool the gentry, but what of the staff? Those who worked alongside her at Swansdown?”

Killian scoffed and cocked an accusatory brow at his step-mother. “Lucky for us, you made working for the Jones family unbearable, and we’ve been unable to keep anyone around long term. Other than Granny, I do not believe there are any servants left who were there when Emma was.”

“And you expect Mrs. Lucas to simply--”

“Granny is as loyal as they come. I have no doubt we can count on her discretion.” Killian fixed his gaze upon his step-mother and asked, “Now, tell me, Mother. Can Emma and I count on yours?”

He could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. For whatever reason - and he did not deny there were valid reasons - she was adamantly opposed to the idea of having a maid as a step-daughter-in-law, but Killian really did not give a damn how Cora felt. It was his decision to make, and his heart had chosen Emma long ago.

“What of the child?” Cora asked. “Are you truly prepared to raise another man’s son? To be saddled with another’s offspring who will most likely resent your own child for the privilege they will one day inherit?”

He had given that much thought throughout the day, and could only respond with the hopeful determination he had come to resolve within himself. “I can only hope that with time, I will come to love the boy as my father did Regina. Surely you, of all women, can appreciate Emma’s situation? Would you really begrudge her the same opportunity you strove to achieve when you set your sights on my father, knowing that at least in this instance, she already has the love of the man who is willing to care for her?”

“My Lord?” a footman called out from the foyer. “We must make haste if you wish to make your appointment with the solicitor.”

Cora’s eyes widened and she nearly shrieked, “The solicitor? Killian, please tell me you are not planning to--”

“Ask Emma to marry me?” he finished for her. “Aye. I am. Tomorrow morning, in fact.”

“But what will the ton think? How will you ever justify such a hasty proposal without bringing about the very speculation and scrutiny we all wish to avoid?”

Killian shrugged, having grown long tired of this conversation. “Perhaps we will simply tell people we met during one of my trips abroad. What does it matter?”

“It matters, because who you choose to marry reflects upon all of us, therefore I should think my opinion on the subject would be--”

“Enough,” he commanded with a barking edge to his tone. “I have indulged your concerns out of respect for you as my father’s widow, but make no mistake, Cora. Whatever Emma and I become is up to her as much as it is me, and no matter the outcome, it has absolutely _nothing_ to do with _you_.”

Striding out of his office, Killian barely heard her challenging threat of _we’ll see about that_ before exiting the house, climbing into the carriage, and setting off for the solicitor.

While Killian had official engagement papers drawn up, he also tasked the solicitor in obtaining an expedited marriage license. With any luck, Emma would say yes to his request for her hand the following morning, and they could be married by week’s end, Cora and the rest of Society’s sensibilities be damned.

On the other side of town, his step-mother sat in a hired coach, prepared to take matters into her own hands. When the carriage displaying the royal crest returned from the palace, Cora waited another ten minutes or so before presenting herself at the door.

“Good evening,” she said to the butler. “Would you be so kind as to inform _Mrs. Swan_ that the Dowager Countess of Hookshire wishes to speak with her?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have it! The final installment! Thank you for going on this journey with me. I so appreciate all the wonderful comments and kudos. Much love to all my betas and to Fabiana for inspiring this fic with her art and prompt in the first place. I hope you all enjoy its conclusion!

**Part Three**

Emma had not even been afforded the opportunity to remove her jewelry when the pronouncement came she had a visitor. When said visitor was identified as none other than Lady Jones herself, Emma had almost told the footman to send the woman away. However, she couldn’t bring herself to pass up the opportunity of seeing the woman’s reaction as they faced one another on more equal footing this time around.

Still dressed in her best gown and adorned with jewels Ingrid had loaned her, Emma stood in front of the closed doors of the drawing room. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin, then nodded to the footman. He swung the door wide and Emma glided into the room with all the poise and command Ingrid had instilled in her, an expression of civil indifference set on her features.

“Lady Jones,” Emma greeted, enjoying the brief look of astonishment the woman had not been quick enough to smother. “To what do I owe this… pleasure?”

Lady Jones stiffened her posture and approached Emma, assessing her in the same disapproving way she had that day at Swansdown. Although, this time, there was a small glimmer of what might have been respect - albeit reluctant - behind her eyes.

“I must say,” she began in the haughty tone of superiority that had once sliced Emma to the bone. “I am impressed. You turned out to be a rather _resourceful_ little thing, didn’t you?”

“I am sure I do not know what you mean,” Emma replied with a tone of coy innocence.

“Come now, my girl,” Cora cajoled. “Do not sell your efforts short. I can admit I was dubious as to whether you would amount to anything, but imagine my surprise at seeing you at the opera last night. In the Royal Box, no less.”

“Yes. I can imagine that must have been quite a shock for you.”

The woman gave Emma a strained smile in response to the dead panned tone of her reply and began stalking her way around the room, circling Emma as she built up to the reason as to why she was there.

“Not as shocking as it was to hear not only were you planning to enter the season, but that my stepson had already come to call on you.” Coming back around, Cora stood before Emma with a smug expression besetting her brow. “And that after a reunion with you he still had no idea as to the real reason you left Swansdown, or about the bastard he fathered.”

Emma’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “You will refrain from referring to my son that way, and rest assured that even though the opportunity did not present itself today, I will be telling Killian the whole truth first thing tomorrow.”

“No, my darling girl, I do not believe you will,” Cora asserted sharply. “In fact, when he comes to call, you will refuse to see him.”

“Why in heaven’s name would I do that?” she asked coolly.

A simpering expression slid over the woman’s face as she threatened, “Because if you do not, I will inform Lady Frost and the Queen herself that they have been duped. I will tell them all about you, your past, and the true nature of your child’s parentage.”

Emma inhaled sharply, dipped her head, and wet her lips as though nervous. “Very well,” she whispered meekly, pulling a triumphant look from the odious woman. Flicking her gaze up at Lady Jones from beneath her lashes, Emma asked, “Would you rather meet Lady Frost now, or wait until you have gained an audience with Her Majesty and tell them together?”

Cora balked and her brows pinched together in puzzlement.

A smirk lifted the corner of Emma’s lips and she crossed her arms over her chest. Leaning in towards the stunned woman, Emma revealed in a gloating tone, “They already know.”

“They… They know?”

“They’ve known since the day my son was born,” Emma told her. “Who his real father is, the sort of relationship we had, how we fell in love, and… what drove us apart.” Emma would swear she actually saw the woman flinch. “They know and they love me all the same. Love _and_ accept me. Just as Killian always has.”

“Well,” Cora replied, clearly gathering her thoughts. “That may be all well and good, but what do you think Society will think when they learn of the truth?” she asked, the fresh threat left hanging in the air between them.

Emma could not contain the full-bodied laugh that escaped her. Pressing her hand over her mouth, she tried to fight back the unlady-like snort that shook her shoulders, but was wholly unsuccessful.

“You think such a scandal humorous?” Cora scolded.

“I find it hilarious you think anyone would even believe such a thing,” Emma chortled. “Who in their right mind would believe a lowly maid could ascend as far as having the ear and affection of the Queen? Who would dare challenge Her Majesty's own word of endorsement? And even if they did,” Emma continued, taking a measured step forward with her brow arched high upon her forehead. “Such a tale would only cast aspersions onto your own household, damaging your daughter’s prospects, and we both know you are not prepared to risk such a thing.”

Cora’s eyes dipped towards the floor, her desperation oozing from her pores as she played her final card, hopeless as it was. “Then perhaps it is money you are after,” she offered. “I bought you off once before, how much would it take to do so again?”

Emma’s jaw dropped and her arms fell back to her sides as a huff left her lungs. “Why are you so against Killian and me finally having a chance for happiness after all these years? What possible reason could you have when there is little for you to lose and so much to gain? Why would you deny Killian the chance to meet his…” Emma’s words trailed off as an epiphany illuminated within her mind. “Oh,” she drawled, casting a look of cold understanding at Cora. “I see. You’re afraid.”

“Afraid?” Cora responded, doing her best to appear as anything but. “That’s absurd. What would I have to fear?”

“That when Killian learns _you_ are the reason I left without so much as a goodbye or the truth of my condition revealed to him, he will cast you and your daughter out into the street.”

Cora raised her chin in challenge and stated, “Killian would never abandon his sister.”

“No, you’re right,” Emma conceded. “Killian is a good and honorable man. He would never turn his back on Regina because of your actions. But he can ensure that his duty towards Regina never benefits you in any way.”

It was now Emma’s turn to circle her quarry. She was not the helpless young girl she had been when last they met. It was Emma who now held all the power, and she would be damn sure Cora knew it. She would not allow this woman to interfere with the happy future she and Killian and their son deserved.

“He can include provisions within her marriage contract stating if her future husband gives you so much as a cent, the entirety of Regina’s dowry must be paid back to the earl in full… plus interest.” Cora paled at the threat, but Emma was not yet done. “You do not want me as your enemy, Cora. Because we both know once Killian discovers the truth of your actions, I will be the only thing standing between you and utter ruin. So, it seems you are the one who has a choice to make this time.”

Visibly swallowing, Cora held fast to her composure as she inquired, “What choice would that be?”

Standing toe to toe with the woman who had robbed her of so much, Emma looked down at her and could not deny how good it felt to see her be the one standing small and meek. “You will swear not to interfere,” Emma demanded. “You will not meddle or conspire against us. You do not have to voice your support, but you _will_ remain silent. Do so, and I will use all of my influence to ensure you are cared for in the manner to which you have grown accustomed.” Hardening her features, Emma grit her teeth and warned, “But cross me even once, and I will see you left with _nothing_. It will be _you_ left in ruin. Destitute. Facing the squalor you once threatened me to suffer.”

Unwilling to give up any ground, despite having been backed into a corner, Cora gave her a spiteful smile and viciously quipped, “Are you so certain you will have such influence over my stepson when he learns of _your_ actions? Do you really think his anger will not bleed over onto you when he learns of your betrayal? Choosing money over him?”

Emma softened her features and let out a quiet sigh, rocking back on her heels so she might put some space between them. “I am quite certain he will be angry,” she acknowledged. “It breaks my heart, knowing the pain I must have caused him, and I do not doubt he will feel betrayed.” Cora’s brows jumped and she opened her mouth with a keen retort on her tongue. “But,” Emma said, acutely staying her response. “I trust him. I trust our love, and I have faith that in the end, he will find it in his heart to forgive me.”

Cora’s features fell back to a neutral expression, and her next words surprised Emma. “Well, I hope you are right.” Extending her hand, in acceptance of Emma’s terms, Cora added, “For both our sakes.”

~/~

Killian paced the length of the sitting room, a pungent and expensive bouquet of flowers - one that contained all of Emma’s favorite blooms - clutched in his hand. Tucked within his breast pocket was the engagement contract he’d had drawn up. Ready for Emma’s signature, it was the final piece required in order to obtain the expedited license that would allow them to marry immediately. Though he knew they would have to remain in town until Regina was secure in her own match, Killian ached to return to Swansdown with his Emma, and found himself quite eager to bond with her lad in the place he hoped the boy would come to see as his home as well.

While the sounds of laughter and murmurs of entertained voices had wafted through the hall from the drawing room as Killian had been led to the other end of the house, he was thankful for the quiet solitude this room would afford them once Emma arrived. Slipping his hand into his trouser pocket, his fingers toyed with the velvet box containing the ring he hoped she would agree to replace the one she wore now.

It had not escaped his notice, the modest emerald set in a band of gold upon her left hand. Though lovely, Killian did not think it really suited his Emma. Of course, that could have simply been a byproduct his sin of covetousness was producing. Taking in a deep breath, Killian quelled the proprietary stirrings threatening to churn his gut and swallowed back the bitter taste thoughts of Emma with her beloved husband left in his mouth.

The man was long dead, Killian reminded himself. By Emma’s own admission her husband had cared for and made her happy during their short time together, so for that, Killian could find a sense of gratitude towards him. Knowing she still loved him, and likely always would, was a weight Killian was willing to carry. Besides, given the way Emma had greeted him yesterday, it was clear she still had very strong feelings for him. In time, Killian knew he could win back her love. He was not looking to replace the man who had given her the security of his position or the blessing of a child, he merely wanted the chance to regain the love he knew she was still capable of feeling for him. His father had once said that though love anew is never the same, it could still be found even after all hope of it was lost.

Killian had once thought her lost to him forever, and now that fate had brought them back together, he would not let something as petty as wounded pride stand in the way of their happiness. He had not been in a position to give her everything she deserved back then, and he did not fault her for finding it in another, but now… Now things were different. Now he could provide her all the comfort and privilege and love and security his station had to offer without risk of condemnation or ostracism. And not just her, but her son as well. For just as his father had done, Killian was determined to do right by the lad, ensuring he never felt _less than_ or in any way an outsider. It would be up to Emma as to whether the lad would officially keep his father’s name, but to all of society Killian intended to make it clear the boy was a Jones, and that he be regarded as such in all matters of peerage.

Opening his pocket watch, Killian checked the time just as the parlor door opened. His head snapped up to see his Emma enter, a slightly frantic aura surrounding her as she apologized for her tardiness.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to make you wait.”

“Is everything alright, love?”

“Yes. Fine,” she assured him. “I just… that is… my son was not too keen in letting me leave him with his nanny this morning. He has not yet settled into his new surroundings.”

“I can only imagine such an upheaval would be rather traumatic when one is too young to understand--”

The parlor door banged open, and a small boy came running in with cries of _Mama!_ as he sprinted towards them. Emma scooped the boy up into her arms, and with a visible inhale of fortification, met Killian’s stunned expression.

He had been expecting a wee babe, or a child no older than a toddler, not one of about four years old. A child with dark hair and familiar blue eyes, with points tipping his ears and a dimple he clearly inherited from his mother, denting his chin. The boy asked who the man was, and Emma took in another deep breath as Killian held his.

“Sweetheart,” she cooed softly at the lad. “This is my friend, Killian Jones, the Earl of Hookshire.”

The boy’s face lit up. Pointing at his chest he excitedly announced, “That’s my name! Mama named me after my Papa.” Killian’s held breath whooshed from his lungs, and his eyes snapped to Emma’s when the lad asked with an innocence only a child could deliver, “Are you my Papa?”

Seeing the truth shimmering in Emma’s gaze, Killian turned his attention back to her son - _his_ son - and found himself unable to answer. Fortunately, a harried looking young woman appeared at that moment, a new set of apologies being released into the room as she offered to take _Young Master Killian_ back to the nursery.

“Killy,” Emma said softly, drawing her… _their_ son’s attention back to her, “Why don’t you go back to the nursery with Nanny while his lordship and I talk.”

Killian did not think his heart could contain the emotion he felt swelling in his chest. Watching his son being passed from one woman to the other, his arms ached with a pain he never knew existed. He wanted to tell the woman to stop, to bring him his son, but he knew it was best the boy not be present for the conversation that lay ahead.

“He’s the reason you left,” Killian said, hollowly, not yet ready to meet the anxious gaze he could feel upon him.

“Yes.”

“You left without telling me?” he asked in a tone of accusation colored by the hurt piercing his heart. Turning his head back towards her, he locked onto the green hue of her eyes, misted over with held back tears, and begged, “Why? Why would you keep such a thing from me? Did you think I would be angry, or that I would not do what was right?”

“What was right?” Emma repeated back to him. “What _right_ could you have possibly offered me in that situation?”

“I could have provided for you,” he countered, his voice raising in anger. “For both of you. Did you not trust that I would?”

“Of course I trusted you,” Emma implored. “But I also knew you were not in a position to do so. Marriage was out of the question, and you had not the authority to establish any sort of financial provisions we would have required.”

“So you just made the decision for me, then,” he grit out in anguish. “Took it upon yourself to decide what was best, and to hell with anyone else.”

Tears escaped her lashes, but she remained otherwise composed in the face of his shock and anger. “I did what I thought was best,” she confided, the hope that he would understand infused in every word of her confession. “I did what I felt I must do to give all of us our best chance… and I have regretted it every single day since.”

“Then why not return or write to me?” he pressed. “If you’d had a change of heart, why not write to me and tell me so? I know I spent much of the past five years abroad, but you could have sent a letter to Swansdown to be forwarded to me.”

Emma’s eyes shifted, as did her stance, and the slight change in her demeanor exposed something Killian had failed to read in it up until now.

“Unless…” he exhaled with the beginnings of fresh understanding solidifying in his mind. “Unless you knew such a letter would never be forwarded on.”

“Killian,” Emma beseeched softly.

“Unless…” he repeated, stepping forward and fixing her with a piercing gaze, probing for the truth. “You knew someone would be keeping an eye out for any correspondence from you.”

Emma swallowed and wet her lips. “Killian, please--”

“It may have been five years since last we knew one another, but you are still an open book to me.” The long forgotten bouquet of flowers was still clutched in his hand, and his grip tightened around the stems, crinkling the paper the flower girl had used to wrap them as rage simmered to a slow boil within his veins. “You might be able to lie to others, but never to me. I’m right, aren’t I? Someone knew. Someone knew about us, about our child, and they forced you to leave without saying a word.”

He did not need Emma to answer, her expression as well as his own knowledge and experience were confirmation enough.

“Cora,” Killian seethed, slamming the cluster of flowers against the arm of a nearby chair and tossing the ruined blooms at the floor as he spun around and marched for the door. “My treacherous step-mother will rue the day she--”

“Killian, no. Please,” Emma grasped his arm, and forced him to turn back around. Cupping his face in her hands, she acknowledged, “You have every right to be angry, but please do not do anything--”

“How can I not?” Killian reached up and pulled her hands from his face, clasping them tightly in his own as he brought them to rest against his chest, hoping they might help anchor him while he battled against the surge of such fury. “Look what she’s done! What she took from us. What she took from _me_.”

Emma released a soft breath and flattened her palms over his heart, her expression holding the solidarity of commiseration even as she asked, “What would you have had her do? What other choice did she have?”

Killian blanched, head cocking to one side as his brows pulled together and his hands fell away from hers. “Are you seriously defending her? After the way she treated you?”

An expression of hurt crossed her features when he withdrew his touch, and she took a small step back, asserting, “Make no mistake, I have held my fair share of resentment towards the woman, and last night when she came here, I let her know in no uncertain terms that I would not tolerate even a hint of disdain or meddling from her.”

Killian opened his mouth, but the demand to know exactly what the hell his step-mother had said, and why Emma had not told him about her visit sooner, died on his tongue when she reached out and tentatively took his hand with fresh tears shimmering in her eyes.

“But standing here with you now, I cannot help but feel the slightest bit grateful for what she did.”

“Grateful?” he questioned, a pang twinging his heart that she could ever find gratitude in having been forced apart.

Sweeping her other hand over his brow, she brushed back the fringe that had fallen upon it and gently pointed out, “Would we be here, together, within the same peerage, so far as Society was concerned, if she had not done what she did? Would we have this opportunity to love one another, and raise _our son_ together within the public eye without the stain of scandal or shame?”

“Our son,” Killian breathed out, lacing his fingers with hers. The pang that had pierced his insides dulled as a wash of longing spread through him, sweeping away the anger that had threatened to consume him. “I have a son.”

“Yes, Killian.” Threading her hand through the back of his hair, she raised up onto her toes and pressed her forehead against his. “And he is here, upstairs in his nursery.” Flicking her eyes up at him, she asked, “Would you like to go meet your son properly?”

Killian sucked in a shaky breath as she lowered herself back down onto her feet, her eyes peering up at him full of love and hope.

“Aye, love,” he replied in no more than a whisper. “I would like that very much.”

~/~

The closer they got to the room at the end of the long corridor, the harder Killian’s heart hammered in his chest. There was a faint buzzing in his ears and a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach where worry had eaten at him over what the lad’s reaction might be. When Emma opened the door, Killian only managed to take a step or two inside before he halted, overcome once more by the sight of his son. Emma glanced back at him when she felt his resistance tug at her hand and a soothing smile spread over her lips.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she whispered softly, prompting him forward with a slight pull on his hand.

Nanny, having seen them both enter, stood from where she’d been playing with the young sir on the carpet and nodded at them before making her way to the corner of the room, allowing them a bit of privacy while maintaining her post.

“Killy, sweetheart,” Emma said, crouching down next to their son and placing a hand at his back in order to draw his attention away from his toys. Bright, curious eyes raised up to his mother’s before flicking over to meet their twins in hue. “You remember Lord Jones from before?” The boy nodded. “Well, he wanted to come up and say hello, and…”

Emma’s words trailed off. A moment's uncertainty of how to proceed crossed her face as she looked into Killian’s, who now offered her an assuring smile before turning his attention onto his son.

“Hello, my boy,” Killian said in greeting, lowering himself onto the floor to sit beside the lad who was still staring up at him.

“Hello,” he replied, placing a block in front of him as an invitation to play.

Killian turned the toy over in his hands before adding it to the tower being constructed in front of them. “Earlier,” he said, gaining the boy’s attention. “When we first met in the other room. You asked me if… if I was your Papa.”

The boy nodded that he remembered and asked, “Are you?”

Breathing in deeply, Killian smiled, somewhat lopsidedly, and affirmed, “Aye, lad. I am.”

Cocking his head to one side, Killy’s brows pinched together. “Where have you been?”

Killian was relieved to hear there was no sadness or accusation in the boy’s words. Only simple curiosity.

“I’ve been away,” he replied. “But I am back now, and would very much like for you and your mother to come and live with me at my home. Would you like that… son?”

Killy stood and smiled. “Yes, thank you.” A soft _oof_ expelled from Killian’s lungs when the boy launched himself at him, only giving Killian a moment to catch him in his arms. “I missed you, Papa,” he mumbled into Killian’s shoulder, and a sob began to work its way up his throat.

“I missed you too, lad,” he replied in a shuddering breath, holding his son tight within his arms while fighting back tears.

A chuckle rose up in his chest from the way the boy squirmed, wishing to return to his toys after a few moments of affection. Killian promptly released him, then joined his son in the construction of a grand tower until Nanny hesitantly approached Emma and reluctantly whispered something in her ear.

“What is it?”

Emma briefly smiled down at him before setting a firm look upon her face. It was an expression he had never seen from her before, and one that had his chest tightening with the reminder of how things had changed over these past five years.

It was the expression of a mother readying herself for battle with a strong-willed foe.

“It is time for Killy’s nap,” she informed them both, and Killian had to swallow back the laugh rumbling in his chest at the way his son’s shoulders sagged.

“But Mama--”

“No buts, lad,” Killian interjected with a measure of gentleness applied to his stern tone. “Do as your mother and Nanny tells you.”

Swinging his gaze back up to his mother, Killy asked, “Can Papa read me a story and tuck me in?”

Killian could see the mirth dancing behind Emma’s eyes when he swung his gaze up to her as well, imagining she was facing matching pleas from two sets of identical forget-me-not colored eyes.

“Alright,” she relented with an exaggerated sigh. “Why don’t you educate your Papa on the proper nap time procedures whilst Nanny and I tidy up for you?”

His son’s tiny hands took hold of his, pulling with all his might until Killian was up off the floor and following him over to his bed in the corner, the sound of Emma’s giggle following them and making his heart swell impossibly larger than it already had.

~/~

The door to the nursery shut with a soft snick. Looking over at Killian, Emma’s chest tightened at the expression of pure joy and awe that shone from the features she knew her son would one day grow into. His Adams’ apple bobbed and a sheen coated his forget-me-not gaze when he turned his head towards her.

“Oh, Emma,” he exhaled on a strained breath. “He is… amazing. I never… gods, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

Pressing his palm against the door that separated them from their sleeping child, Killian lamented, “For not being there. For not--”

“Hey,” she urged, reaching over and coaxing his face back towards her with the gentle pressure of her hand. “You didn’t know. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Covering her hand with his own, tears slipped down his cheeks but his expression held no hint of condemnation towards her. Emma took his other hand and prompted him to follow her. The hall was no place for the conversation they still needed to have.

Crossing the hall, they passed a set of doors before she stopped and ushered him into her room. After closing the door behind them, Emma leaned against its hard surface while Killian made his way to the center of the room, his shoulders shaking slightly as he kept his back to her. Her own tears welled within her eyes while she watched him gain his composure, torn as to whether he would welcome her comfort or needed a moment before she offered it.

Long, agonizing minutes later, he turned around and looked at her with a watery smile, waving her to him as he sat upon the cushioned bench at the foot of her bed. Her first steps were tentative, but when he held his arms open for her, she quickly rushed to his side and melted into his embrace.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured into her hair. “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Emma responded, her voice thick from the same emotion she could hear within Killian’s tone. “I wanted to, so many times, but I… I guess I was afraid.”

Pulling back, Killian kept a hand placed gently at her waist as his other took her left hand, brushing soothing strokes of his thumb over the back of it as he inquired, “Afraid?”

Emma wet her lips and swallowed heavily. “Even with Ingrid’s support and my introduction as a widow, I knew it would still be risky to return. I was worried I might damage you, your reputation and standing within Society. It wasn’t until Elsa…”

“Having the Queen’s favor does have its advantages,” Killian affirmed. “Cora would not dare speak out against Her Majesty, and neither, I gather, would anyone else who might come to suspect you are not all you appear to…” His words trailed off and his gaze fell to her ring. Then, his head snapped up as though a realization had just struck him. “You were never married.”

An amused huff left her and she fondly replied, “No.” Something shifted in his expression, a sense of relief perhaps? “I came up with the story of being a widow when I left Swansdown. This,” she pulled her hand away and held it up, “was my mother’s ring.”

“And your name. Swan. You chose it because of--”

“Swansdown,” she confirmed with a light nod. “I knew I could not give our child your family name, but I wanted to have some part of you connected to him. To us. I did not think to name him Killian until after he was born.” A smile bloomed at her lips as she stated, “He looks just like you.”

Killian dipped his head and a grin broke out across his face. “Aye. That he does.” Though he may have tried, he could not keep the note of pride out of his voice, nor could he mask the surprise that suddenly took hold of his features when he met her gaze once more with fresh comprehension awakening in his mind. “So, yesterday,” he began with a hesitancy buoyed in hope. “When I asked whether you loved him, if he made you happy, and you said… you meant me?”

Emma grasped his hand and squeezed tightly. “Of course, I meant you.”

She could see his resolve knit into place before he even began to move. This time, when he slid off the seat next to her in order to kneel before her, she felt only the thrill of anticipation while awaiting his question.

“Emma,” he began, softly. “I know there is still so much we must discuss and work through. I will not pretend my anger and hurt over what transpired years ago no longer exists, but I want you to know that I… I forgive you for the decision you made, and hope you can forgive me for putting you in the position of having to make it. I do not want to waste time dwelling on the past when we have the opportunity of a future neither of us thought possible laying in wait before us.” A small, black velvet box was produced from the pocket of his trousers, and Emma’s breath audibly caught in the back of her throat when he lifted the lid to reveal the ring within. “My Emma,” he murmured, reverently. “Say you will be mine? Let us belong to one another in Society’s and the law’s eyes as we always have within our hearts? Marry me, Emma? Please?”

Her heart simultaneously broke, from the look of uncertainty within his eyes, and soared, at the words she had longed to hear from him. Easing herself down onto her knees, she cupped his face into her hands and smiled.

“Yes.”

A giddy sound escaped him as Emma pulled his lips to hers. She’d only meant to seal the moment with a quick kiss, but when Killian’s hand moved to the back of her head, kneading the base of her skull in a way that was both a demand and a plea, she couldn’t help the flood of desire that began coursing through her at the knowledge they were entirely alone with her bed only a few feet away.

“What about the ring?” Killian murmured against her mouth when she began to push his jacket off his shoulders. “Don’t you want to put it on?”

“Later,” she mumbled back, already occupied with the task of divesting him of his garments, just as soon as she could get past all the infernal buttons his clothing required.

When he was finally stripped of his waistcoat, his own hands slipped down to the closures at the back of her dress while hers continued to work on his shirt. Their actions were clumsy, half focused on the way their tongues toyed and taunted the other while eager for any measure of bared skin they might run their fingertips over. Standing was a nearly disastrous undertaking, neither willing to be separated from the other as they both rose so her dress could be discarded, along with his shirt; they nearly toppled from getting caught up in her skirts.

“We seem to be a bit out of practice,” Emma laughed, letting her dress slip down her arms and pool at her feet, where she toed off her house slippers before stepping out of the pile of fabric. Looking back up at him, she noted the pained expression on his face. “Killian? What is it?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily and he seemed reluctant to answer, until, “I’m not,” he confessed with a brooding air of contrition. “Out of practice, that is. I haven’t… I haven’t been with anyone since returning to Misthaven, but I have--”

“I know,” she said, slipping her fingers into the open expanse of his shirt so she could rest her palm over his heart. “You told me yesterday, remember?”

“Aye, but that was before I knew you had not really been married. Not that it matters. I--”

“Have nothing to feel guilty over,” she assured him. “I never expected you would abstain from the affections of other women. Indeed, I half expected you to already be married by now. And truth be told,” she said, pausing as she gathered her nerve, “I might well have done the same if convention had allowed it without great risk.” She felt the shuddering release of his breath beneath her palm, and curled her fingers through the soft hair covering his chest. “What matters is that we are together now, and will be for the rest of our lives.”

“Aye, my love,” he whispered on a slight groan, his nipples hardening when her nails trailed over them as her hands skimmed their way back down his torso so she could finish work on the few remaining buttons of his shirt.

His shirt hit the floor, landing atop his discarded vest and jacket. Emma gasped when he spun her around, the hot vapor of his breath ghosting over the curve of her neck and raising her skin to attention.

“Are you sure you do not wish to wait?” he asked, his fingers gliding down her arms which were pebbled from both his breath and his touch. “If you have any hesitations, then please say so now.”

Reaching back, Emma threaded her fingers through his hair before clenching the soft strands in her fist and tugging lightly. “Get this damn corset off me.”

Her entire body jerked at the rough way he pulled at the laces, stealing her breath from her lungs as he growled into her ear, “As you wish.”

Deftly, his fingers made quick work of the torturous garment, and once it fell from her form they did not hesitate to do the same with her breasts. Hot, wet kisses slid down the column of her neck and over the slope of her shoulders while his teeth took playful yet possessive nips of her flesh. His hands continued to knead her breasts, familiarizing themselves with the difference in their heft from when last they’d held them. Her nipples were being teased into nearly painful peaks, causing all manner of moans and whimpers to fall from her lips as his traced the indent left behind by her corset, his tongue applying a soothing balm to the raw skin its _support_ had left behind.

Once more, Emma found herself being maneuvered, her back suddenly pressed up against one of the four posts of her bed. Killian’s mouth replaced the attentions of his fingers, his teeth now applying that exquisite pinch to her nipples before his tongue laved its apology over the roughly nipped flesh. Each action sent a current of want straight to her core, arousal pooling at her center and making her thighs slick with need.

Killian groaned into the valley of her breasts when she reached forward with the intent of loosening his trousers, only to brush against the stiffness of his erection. He rolled his hips while she cupped his hardened length, palming him with a gentle grip as her fingers began to tease the underside of him. With each ebb of his thrusts she applied more pressure to her ministrations, drawing out those deep guttural groans she had missed echoing in her ear. A disapproving whimper fell from his lips when she removed her hand so it might join the other, already firmly clamped to his backside.

“I want to feel you against me,” she said, pulling his hips forward.

“I want to feel you around me,” he rasped back.

The sound of torn linen ripped through the air as he rent the seam of her slip. Shimmying the last of her garments down her legs, Emma’s eyes became fixated on where Killian’s hands were undoing the buckle of his belt and the fastenings of his trousers, her breath coming in short pants of anticipation for what was about to be bared before her. When his hands stilled her eyes shot up to his. A devilish smirk pulled the corner of his mouth upward, matching the arch of his brow and Emma slowly straightened her posture as he pushed his trousers down, freeing himself from their confines before grasping the backs of her thighs and hoisting her up into his arms.

“I had plans to worship you for hours,” he grunted while bracing her against the wide post so he could line himself up with her core. “I’ve missed the taste of you, the rush of your release on my tongue, and the way your skin flushes when you come.”

“We can do that later, as well,” she muttered, canting her hips forward with impatience after the tip of his cock teased her folds and brushed against the sensitive nub of their apex.

“Seems I’m not the only one who has been pining for the delights of the other,” Killian teased, his teeth tugging on her earlobe as his member slid through her folds a second time. “Tell me, darling,” he purred, wickedly. “Have you missed my cock?”

Emma’s back arched off the column and if it were not for the steady grip he had on her, she would have likely met the floor. “Yes,” she whimpered. “I’ve missed all of you.”

“Then all of me you shall have.”

Emma gasped again and scrambled to latch onto his shoulders when he pulled her away from the post. Depositing her on the bed, he set to work removing his boots and trousers, the heat of his gaze raking over her form, now fully exposed to him. Climbing onto the bed, he skimmed his hands up her legs, pushing her knees apart so he could place kisses, intent on ravishment, along her inner thigh as he continued to crawl up her body. He paused, inhaling indecently over her sex, and Emma was sure he would give in to the temptation to taste her when his eyes narrowed on a spot further up.

She sucked in a sharp inhale when his fingertips caressed the faint lines in her skin stretching across her stomach, and held her breath as he placed his lips reverently over the scars. His eyes met hers from beneath heavy brows and she felt his smile lift the corners of his mouth as it tenderly paid homage to the service and sacrifice her body had undertaken in order to bring their son into the world. Carding her fingers through his hair, Emma released the breath in staccatoed exhales as he settled his hips between her legs and hovered over her, braced on his forearms.

“You are even more beautiful today than you were back then, my love,” he assured her, always able to read her so well, even after all this time.

Emma’s head fell back against the plush blankets they probably should have pulled back before engaging in such pleasurable activities, but as Killian’s cock slid through her folds, coating itself in her arousal and exquisitely driving her to the brink of madness as her need to be filled by him intensified beyond measure, she ceased to care about the mess they were sure to make. Taking his backside into her hands once more, Emma lifted her hips and urged him to enter, giving the firm flesh within her grasp a hard squeeze which caused something akin to a growl to rumble in his chest.

“Are you sure you are ready for me?” he asked with a strained desperation catching in the back of his throat. “I have no wish to harm you.”

“You won’t,” she assured him, canting her hips against the roll of his.

Her movement proved successful when the tip of his length slipped inside her. His hiss of surprise morphed into a groan of pleasure, drowning out her own moans of pleasant discomfort. The stretch and burn of his occupation sent a jolt of wonder through her extremities. A rush of tingly euphoria swept over her body as her walls adjusted and moulded around him, welcoming him back after each withdrawal and return until he was fully seated within her. This was the feeling she had craved during long, lonely nights without him, and though she was eager for him move, to feel those languid strokes glide in and out of her like the ebb and flow of a tide increasing in frequency until the currents of their desire demanded release, she also wanted to revel in the sensation of once again being joined together. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Emma crossed her ankles behind his back and held him in place as tears of contentment leaked from the corners of her eyes.

“Emma? Are you alright? Have I--”

“I am perfectly well,” she told him, blinking away her tears so she could gaze upon him with cleared vision. With a featherlight touch, her fingertips traced the line of stubble dusting his jaw and his eyes fluttered shut as he nuzzled his face into her hand. “I am just… so perfectly happy,” she confessed. “And the feeling of it surprised me is all.”

“Aye, my love,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her palm. “Me, too.”

Their eyes never left the other’s when he began to move, both of them savoring every inch of unification, every contact point, every gasp of breath and soft moan elicited until the escalating need quivering at the base of their spines and pulling low in their bellies became so great all thought of relishing the moment was abandoned in order to chase the completion of their desires.

“Yes! Gods, yes!” Killian cried out, his hips snapping with a fury that echoed erotically throughout her room. “Bloody hell but you feel amazing. So wet and responsive and _perfect_.”

Emma wanted to respond but had not the breath to do so, nor the ability to focus on anything other than the impending bliss nearly within reach. Tremors quaked down her thighs and her back arched off the mattress as her body began to tighten, causing Killian’s movements to become erratic as desperate vocalized breaths sounded between them.

“I’m close,” he grit out. “So close. I want to feel you come with me. Come with me, my love. Let me feel you come.”

Though it had been years, Emma’s body was still attuned to heed his commands. She felt the taut string of pleasure snap and waves of ecstasy flooded her senses, making her cry out her lover’s name as her toes curled and her hands fisted the bed covers. Killian’s thrusts continued to drive into her, prolonging the cascade of rapture flowing through her until his hips jerked and his own release pulsed into the deep recesses of her center as her name murmured against her lips from where it fell from his.

Kissing her deeply, their chests heaving from exertion and their skin slick from their efforts, Emma was nearly light-headed by the time he finally tore his mouth away, panting against her neck as his arms shook in their endeavors to keep from crushing her. With reluctance, he rolled to the side, collapsing beside her as their collective groan of his withdrawal reverberated from the backs of their throats.

“That was…” Emma began, the rest of the statement cut off by the stretch of a smile pulling at her lips, causing her to giggle as she turned her head towards him.

He chuckled in response to her giddy expression and reached for her hand. “Something I look forward to doing with you each and every opportunity I am afforded over the course of our married life.”

Placing a kiss upon the backs of her knuckles, his brow furrowed. Releasing her hand, he rolled towards the end of the bed and Emma could not resist the temptation of spanking his bare ass as he reached over the edge to fetch something. His growl preceded his retaliatory response, and a soft shriek fought past the giggle collecting in her throat when he pinned her against the mattress with her arms held above her head in one of his large hands.

“Hush, love,” he admonished wickedly. “It wouldn’t do to alert the staff of our activities, or else I would be forced to flee before having the chance to place this,” he tauntingly waggled the black velvet box in front of her, “on your finger.”

Tenderly, he pulled her left hand from his grip and slipped her mother’s ring from it, exchanging it with the diamond ladened one he had selected for her. While he secured her mother’s ring reverently in the box, Emma brought her hand towards her face and marveled at the way the gem glittered.

When Killian moved again, sitting up as though he intended to leave the bed, Emma’s left hand shot out to grasp his bicep. “Stay,” she implored.

Giving her a lop-sided smile of reassurance, he said, “I’m not going anywhere, my love. I just thought we might be more comfortable beneath the blankets.”

His devilish wink pulled another round of giggles from her as she cocked her brow at him. “Comfortable, huh? I’m not sure rest and relaxation is what you truly have in mind.” Her eyes dipped to where he was already growing hard again before they flicked back up with a pointed look.

Scratching behind his ear, Killian shrugged. “Can you blame me? Though I do not intend to leave your side once we are married, we likely only have a few precious hours before I must depart, and we have much time to make up for. I, for one, do not wish to waste a single moment.”

Grabbing her by the ankles, he pulled her towards the edge of the bed and held her in his arms as he yanked back the covers. Once both were nestled within the softness of the sheets and pressed against the even softer sensation of the other’s body, they took advantage of every minute afforded to them until once again sated, basking in the unhurried delight of simply holding each other without fear of discovery.

That was not to say, however, that the closing moments of their rendezvous did not present its own set of concerns.

“I should not have finished inside you,” Killian stated while Emma set about cleaning herself up so they could get dressed.

“It matters not,” she replied. “Should I become pregnant this time, people will assume it happened during the honeymoon, and besides,” she tossed aside her ruined slip and grabbed her robe from the back of a chair before padding towards her wardrobe for a new set of undergarments, “Society will be expecting you to produce an heir.”

“I already have an heir.”

Securing the knot at her waist, Emma glanced up at him, bewildered. “You have a son, yes. And though you can officially adopt him and give him the Jones name, once our marriage produces another, Society will assume--”

“I do not care what Society will assume, anymore than I wish to give in to its expectations or sensibilities.”

“Killian, you must be reasonable,” Emma countered, even as her heart longed to bestow the very legacy his words were determining for their child. “Our relationship will be suspect enough. The expediency of our courtship, the fact Killian looks so much like you _and_ shares your name… although, I suppose we could take to calling him David. His middle name, after my father.”

“No,” Killian insisted, marching forward and taking her hands in his. “I don’t give a damn what Society demands. Killian is _my_ son. We will not change his name or strip him of that which is rightfully his by order of his birth. _He_ is my heir. Our marriage, and the legal documents I intend to have drawn up, will legitimize his claim to the title, and so far as any of the rest of our children are concerned, he is their elder brother in every capacity. We shall never keep the truth from them. Society can believe whatever it chooses, and I will continue to maintain whatever ruse might be necessary to protect Regina and your family while the ton recovers from the shock of our betrothal and marriage, but I will not perpetuate a lie within our home. Are we in agreement on this?”

With tears pricking her eyes once more, she nodded and replied, “Whatever My Lord wishes.”

A gentle smile crept over his lips in response to her quip and he pulled her in to crush her against his chest, “Whatever My Lady’s heart desires. I promise that’s all I wish for you to have.”

~/~

The sweet summer breeze wafted in from the carriage window as the rattle of its wheels mixed with the jostling of the coach to create a pleasant lull over the earl and his family. Curled on the seat cushion, with his head resting in his father’s lap, little Killian continued to snooze as the trio made their way through the countryside towards Swansdown. Across the coach, perched on her own cushioned seat with an expression of anticipation being cast out over the meadows was the earl’s wife, eager for a glimpse of the estate even though Killian knew she held a bit of trepidation over the manner in which she would be welcomed as the new lady of the house.

Her ring glittered off her finger from the way the soft streams of sunlight hit it as her hand rested against her abdomen which would soon begin to swell with their second child. Killian smiled at the memory of her pronouncement; a rumpled sheet had been tossed at his feet before she declared she had not bled since being reunited with him, and it was simply all his fault. At first, he had thought her angry, and such a reaction had made him panic until her amusement could no longer be contained and she broke out into a fit of giggles. They’d made love with a mixture of tender anticipation at the knowledge they’d soon welcome another Jones into their family as well as a fair amount of humor knowing this would be yet another tidbit of shock for the ton to delight over once her condition was announced.

As expected, their engagement announcement, quickly followed by a wedding proclamation, had sent Society into a tizzy. Cora had used the quipped response Killian had given her the night of the opera to justify their hasty nuptials, stating to all and sundry that the two had met years ago when Killian’s travels abroad had led him to accept the hospitality of Sir Swan and his wife for a time. However, neither his step-mother’s tales nor the queen’s approval of the match could quell the rumours that had flourished during the opening weeks of the Season. Rumours of a torrid affair, of a cuckold husband, and a child who might actually at long last have been claimed by his rightful sire. While certainly scandalous, the tales had done little to cast enough aspersions to actually ruin anyone’s prospects or position within the gentry. If anything, the notoriety had actually boosted both Regina and the queen’s sister, Anna, in their standings within the Marriage Mart, and by Season's end both ladies had entered into matches that were simultaneously advantageous in raising them above their stations while brimming with love and happiness.

Once matters had been settled between his sister and her new fiance, Killian had decreed that he, Emma, and their son would be returning to Swansdown until their presence was required for the wedding. He graciously left the town home in his step-mother’s care, while letting her know in no uncertain terms that her presence would not be permitted back at the country estate, and that when he and his family did return to town, they would take Lady Frost up on her offer to lodge with her. Killian had been good to Emma’s word (her conversation with Cora having been told in full over the days following its occurrence), and would continue to see to the woman’s comforts so long as she did not meddle or in any way interfere with their happiness. Besides, in only a few short months the woman would become his brother-in-law’s problem, and Killian did not envy the man one bit.

Emma’s sudden intake drew Killian out of his musings and back to the here and now. Following her gaze, he could see the towering walls of the manor come into view and gently extricated himself from their son’s still slumbering form so he could join her on the bench seat. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he brushed a section of her hair away from her shoulder so he could apply a light kiss to the slope of her neck.

“Nervous, my love?”

“A little.”

“Don’t be,” he attempted to soothe her for what felt like the hundredth time. “The staff are all looking forward to our arrival.”

An amused scoffed huffed from her lungs. “You forget, I used to be one of the staff. I know all too well how they are _really_ feeling.”

“Which means,” he countered. “You will be able to oversee their service of the manor, in partnership with Granny, in a way no other countess could.”

They had traded a number of letters with Granny, the housekeeper at Swansdown, over the past month. His first had been to inform her of both his nuptials and the expectant arrival of him and his family by month’s end so she would have ample notice in order to ready the house. She had replied with earnest delight over the news of his and Emma’s marriage, but had offered the earl her notice as well. It seemed she had harboured much guilt over what had transpired that fateful day at Swansdown, and fear for her livelihood under threats administered by his step-mother had kept her silent all these years. Killian could not deny the anger and betrayal he’d felt, learning the part Granny had played, but Emma had been quick to come to the woman’s defense, reminding him again that none of them had much of a choice back then, and what mattered now was they were together and happy. They both wrote back, rejecting Granny’s resignation, and she and Emma had been in constant contact, establishing a new rapport for their now reversed roles within the hierarchical structure of the estate.

Killian reached over and gingerly shook their son awake when the carriage turned up the drive. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he peered out the window and began to announce, with great enthusiasm, all of the attributes of the landscape and house he could identify. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Killian reminded his son of the proper etiquette that would be expected of him, and the lad dutifully nodded though was unable to keep himself from bouncing excitedly upon the seat.

Flanking the walkway up to the house was a line of servants, ready to receive their lord and his family with both the butler and housekeeper positioned at the top of the steps. The footman approached, his hand stilled on the latch of the carriage door, awaiting a signal from within before he opened it, and Killian could feel the deep inhale filling Emma’s lungs as she took in a resolved breath.

Squeezing her waist, he pulled her attention to him and asked, “Ready… Lady Jones?”

A smile bloomed at her lips and she took his hand, threading their fingers together as she leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “Indeed... My Lord.”

The End


End file.
